


Consciousness and awareness

by argonautic



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 51,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautic/pseuds/argonautic
Summary: One thing is being pleasantly impressed by how brilliantly a colleague of yours has responded to an almost unilateral breakup, another thing is finding him so bloody tempting to try and kiss him - and whatever comes next
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story is set at some time during the Top Gear era, and initially seen by Jeremy’s POV only.

It was about two weeks since they met again after the winter break, spending almost every day together in their office or at the track, and James seemed to have bloomed into a brand-new person – not only because of the increasingly gaudy shirts he was sporting lately. _It must have been a hard winter for him_ , Jeremy thought; it’s not so easy to spend the holidays alone, while the rest of the world is joyful – he knew from his own experience, the year before. And he was admitting he hadn't taken too much care of him, just a text on Christmas’s eve and another one for the New Year.

The couple of times Jeremy tried to ask Hammond his opinion on something James had said or done, something that seemed particularly brilliant to Jeremy’s eyes, Richard has shaken his head or looked at him worriedly, so he stopped asking for Richard's point of view. Richard didn’t even agree with him completely on what Jeremy referred to as ‘James’s revamp’: yes, he's seen that James had reacted in a great way to his sudden loneliness, after his girlfriend practically dumped him, and for once he'd hit a flattering haircut, that made him look younger and perhaps even a bit thinner than he was, but to Hammond’s eyes he was still the same old chap as before.

Too bad for Hammond, that he couldn’t see that. Jeremy quite liked this new James, it looked way less boring and quite brilliant to his eyes, so un-Jamesly James, miraculously turned from a constant source of annoyance into a joy to be around, so that every time Jeremy looked at James he was somehow pleasantly impressed by his colleague’s mere existence.

He... liked him? Well he always did, somehow: they're mates, him, James, and Richard too; they obviously liked each other, otherwise everything would have turned to rubbish long ago. Let's say this was some sort of late blossoming, for which Jeremy feels that James had just made up for his chronic lateness and stubbornness. Let’s say Jeremy saw James’s serene cheerfulness as a revenge for the whole category of ‘men left miserable after being ditched’ he felt he belonged to. Let's say Jeremy was happy to see James happy, he was happy for James, it was a virtuous circle of happiness that couldn't do anything but good to all of them.

James seemed oblivious to his own sort of beautification: the times he’d spotted Jeremy genuinely grinning at him, he looked surprised and blushed a little, but never turned his gaze away.

That day, they were recording a comparison among three brand new supercars, a chance for Jeremy to show off his driving skills and to mock James’s biblical slowness – for the sake of the show, mostly. And that was exactly what he did, together with his mates and the whole crew, managing to film enough material to make it good for television. After Andy had called the cut, none of them was feeling like quitting so they kept racing against each other for a few more laps to their own amusement. Then, during what Andy firmly decided to be the last lap, that unfortunately went unfilmed, the impossible happened and James got the best time, beating Jeremy off the line. The incredulous first, then desperate, cry could be heard from every corner of the track; after that gut reaction, Jeremy started spouting a string of more elaborate complaints, mainly because he was accustomed to and knew it was what the audience expected from him even if nobody was filming anymore, but also – after the initial genuine shock - to keep feeding James’s celebrative dances that were quite fun to see.

And he kept going for all the walk back to the portacabin, where they were headed to grab their things before going home, with Richard leading the small group in order to get to the loo first. “It was a stupid challenge!”, Jeremy was still grumbling while striding inside, but James promptly echoed “But I won it!”, not holding back the residual giggle from his previous celebrations and looking at Jeremy in such a triumphant but still naively joyful face that made something inside Jeremy switch at that sight. Something quite relevant, Jeremy reckoned, like a main fuse melting and triggering the worst short-circuit ever in Jeremy’s mind, something definitely relevant because he suddenly thought James’s candid happy face was the most kissable thing ever.

“Something must have gone wrong… during the last lap, with my car”, Jeremy quickly mumbled, while trying to understand what had just happened inside him, walking around the sofa in some kind of meditative ritual. Probably trying to give up the jest for the sake of his own ears, James pointed out:

“No, it’s just that I’ve been faster than you this time”, offering it as the logic explanation.

“Oh, come on, that can’t be! You can’t be faster than me! It’s ridiculous!”, _and that applies to me also, this is ridiculous, all of this,_ but despite the ridiculousness he couldn’t help thinking that withdrawing James’s happiness in a kiss to keep it for himself and sip it at his own need seemed a perfectly reasonable plan _and you’re bloody ridiculously inviting James._

“Actually, according to the probability theory, I can be faster than you for once, assumed that-”

“Oh please don’t even try it! It’s just inconceivable, ok? It doesn’t make sense, it’s like saying you… you’ve got taste in clothing!”, Jeremy kept arguing, throwing his hands in the air in disbelief in a brief pause from his wandering in the middle of the room, still uncertain about what he was experiencing, but firm on his goal, _for investigative purposes at least, perhaps it might work…_

“Oh, look who’s talking. Anyway, I’m aware it was pretty unlikely and it won’t happen again, but you have to deal with it: I’ve been the fastest one this time.”, James said nonchalantly, leaning against a corner, his arms crossed on his chest, trying to look casual but still beaming.

“Nope. It’s like assuming you’re a better journalist than me”, he said, pointing at James, who'd shifted with his back against the wall to watch Jeremy’s theatrical stroll around the sofa.

“Well, we have different writing styles, but that doesn’t-“, but Jeremy cut him off and kept going:

“Like saying you aren’t a middle-aged spaniel-haired twat“, which, according to Jeremy, was a totally unappealing but objective description yet it didn’t seem to cool Jeremy’s desire to kiss James, taste the bliss he was soaked in and steal the cheerfulness he seemed to spontaneously produce.

“That’s not even a term of comparison!”, James objected, ignored by Jeremy, who kept walking towards him, studiously.

“Like believing you’re not bothered by me standing so close.”, he concluded, so close in front of James that their bellies almost touched, waiting for him to surrender – not so sure to what.

“Well, I don’t mind it”, was James straight answer: he boldly stated that while uncrossing his arms to place his hands in his pockets and straighten up, staring back at Jeremy with a smirk on his lips that resisted in spite of Jeremy’s insolence.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, surprised by James’s proud stance against his harassment; James kept a resolute gaze, whose determination was just slightly diminished by the blush on his cheeks, that Jeremy was unable to attribute to the excitement for his achievement, annoyance at Jeremy downplaying it or something else. But still, James was gloating and fresh like a springtime sprout, blue eyes sparkling like morning dew reflecting the sun, and kept sporting that proud, defiant smirk on his lips. Too inviting to be left untasted.

Jeremy’s gaze switched from James’s eyes to his lips for a couple of times, then Jeremy gave up thinking and leaned in, until their mouths met, albeit awkwardly. A moment later, Jeremy felt James slightly parting his lips and turn his head, in what unequivocally was an attempt to get a better-angled kiss, and that realisation made Jeremy abruptly pull back.

“James”, he said, keeping his gaze low enough to not glimpse James’s, “What are we doing?”

Hearing no answer, he raised his eyes to look at James, finding him frozen in the same position he was when Jeremy drew back: eyes closed, head just tilted, probably not even breathing.

Jeremy firmly placed both his hands on James’s arms – “James” – and it was like James suddenly came to life again: Jeremy stared worriedly at those blue eyes, now wide open in a complicate mix of panic, disappointment and shame, before James squinted and tried to slip out from Jeremy’s hands. He grabbed him more tightly while saying:

“James please don’t run off, ok?”

Then he got his hands off him and took a step back, setting him free.

James didn’t run off. He stood in his place, motionless for a few seconds, and Jeremy was pleased to have managed to make him stay somehow, but the relief got interrupted by James bursting and almost roaring at him:

“What do you think _you_ were doing Clarkson? Because – if you didn’t realise it – _you_ were the one who'd tried to bloody kiss _me_.”

“You kissed me back though!”, Jeremy replied without missing a beat, “Well, you were trying to, right?”

Jeremy felt slightly guilty for staring again at James’s eyes, bewitched, but this time they were wide with something dangerously close to rage, that lasted for a handful of seconds before James deflated and resignedly admitted:

“I was. I thought it was what you wanted, considering that you. Tried. To kiss me.”

Jeremy felt lost: yes, he was the one kissing first, but in the overall oddness, his gesture had been conceived as a unilateral move, on the push of his own willingness to taste James, to quench his thirst of pure joy, to grab a mouthful of that something he kept seeing in James that was making him so unexplainably happy. Jeremy hadn’t considered any possible reaction from James, not avoidance nor participation. So, wasn’t that what he wanted?

“I… I don’t know now. I’m sorry.”, and Jeremy knew his words made something inaudibly crack inside James, James that had turned into a charcoal sketch of the joyful blooming chap he was a few minutes ago, James that looked painfully betrayed yet managed to keep going and analyse the whole thing:

“You thought it would have been a good laugh, mh?”

"No”, it was the only thing Jeremy was sure of, enough to answer without even thinking about it. That could have been an easy way out, handed on a silver platter, but his brain didn’t have the time to realise it before his gut made him say out loud that no, it wasn’t a bad placed joke at least. It wasn’t the answer James was expecting, because he was now looking at Jeremy in astonishment, perilously prone to turn in disbelief. Before that happened, Jeremy wanted to clarify:

“I really don’t know why I did… that, James, I’m sorry, but… it wasn’t to take the piss out of you ok? I mean it.”

James was now looking at him with puppy eyes, probably overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions he went through in the last minutes, and Jeremy felt guilty as hell.

“James, I need to figure out what happened, I mean, I know what happened, but I don’t know why I did it, I really don’t… I’m going to need some time ok?”, he said, tilting his own head to match James’s and look at him straight in the eyes, that have turned to a flat shade of grey,

“I swear it wasn’t a bad joke, please believe me.”

James nodded first, then mumbled “Fine Clarkson”, but he seemed unable to look at Jeremy any longer, he just grabbed his satchel and walked away. Richard was coming back from the loo and heard the barely intelligible “Bye Hammond” James said while getting outside. “Bye James”, he answered, then, as soon as the door closed, he pointed his finger at the same door and asked Jeremy:

“What did you do to him? Because I know it's been you, am I right?”

“I might… have wrongly done the right thing, or the other way around. I promised him I’ll fix it.”

“Better be quick okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s my own interest as well.”

“Good. Going home, bye Clarkson.”

“Bye”, Jeremy muttered, left alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_It’s my own bloody interest, if I ever want to sleep again,_ Jeremy was thinking while driving home. _Kiss_ _\- well, almost kissing James. Having decided that kissing James was a brilliant idea. And going for it._

Because one thing was being pleasantly impressed by how brilliantly a colleague of yours had responded to an almost unilateral breakup, another thing was finding him so bloody tempting to try and kiss him. There must have been something in between, and he hoped it was some kind of interaction or an unreported side effect of the painkillers and the sleeping tabs he’d taken in abundance lately, an unwanted chemical reaction triggered by the sight of questionable jumpers, flowery shirts and sky-blue eyes.

Since the other – dreadfully more plausible – explanation was that the burst of endorphins he had experienced every time he’d looked at James from the beginning of March until that day was due to him and him only, nurturing the weirdest crush ever on his mate.

He recalled that acceptance is the last of stages of grief, and wondered what place it might have as a stage of infatuation, among unawareness, shame, inconvenience and almost actual blindness - since the subject of it all was a particularly weird one. Which at least was making the whole issue with his newly discovered homosexuality a minor one, in front of the scandal of having fallen, of all the male population, for James May. _It could be the start for a great piece_ , he thought, it was a shame he was driving because he could have written it down for further use, possibly. His grin lasted a couple of seconds, before he recognized he was bloody serious underneath the mocking slant of his considerations; he stopped the car in the first lay-by, grabbed the top of steering wheel with both hands and rested his head on his wrists. _Fuck_.

It took a good five minutes to pull himself together, enough to be able to drive home. During the ride he kept trying to elaborate the whole thing again and again, alternating bursts of proud defence of his own feelings with moments of almost painful reconsideration of his past actions, when his interest was reserved for members of the other sex; he wasn’t sure of how everything could coexist in his own mind, nor aware of whatever might have happened that had made him reconsider his beliefs, but he was quite determined in not willing to repress anything – no shame or dismay, just an unforeseen change of paradigm that has left him surprised but essentially acquiescent to the new scenario he’d been presented with. So he was slowly getting used to accept that he had a crush on James, _and in the end I honestly don’t give a damn about what everybody thinks about it_ \- which was true, nevertheless he was aware he’d have better kept it for himself, at least for a while. Also, while he was successfully working on his self-acceptation, he started realising that dealing with James would be the hardest part of it all.

First, because he felt he’d been a jerk towards James, assaulting him like that. But mostly because James had tried to kiss him back, not panicking or anything, just accepting to be kissed by Jeremy, _and kissing back._ So the chances were that he was bloody obvious in his homosexual flirting, although almost oblivious to himself, or that James actually was the raging homosexual he’d always said _– oh, shame on me_ – and also currently interested in him. _Oh this is all James’ fault_ , he concluded, _he lured me in his trap and he’ll probably claim it’s me wanting him to kiss back_. And it worked as an explanation to avoid further analysis until he got home, allowing him to reach home without further breaks.

Once at his place, alone, he finally let himself go, feeling the load of the trouble he’d got into, unable to understand whether it felt heavier on his shoulders or his conscience. He initially dismissed the chance to further analyse the consequences of his move, just wanting to take refuge in an alcoholic drowsiness, magically postponing all his problem to the morning after. Furthermore, alcohol would be good to sanitise his lips, _since they’ve touched James’s and god knows where he’d placed his mouth before, that bloody homosexualist. He must have been involved in the most perverted activities, down in his dungeon, to show up at work so radiant with enthusiasm every morning._

He went straight to the cabinet and aimed for something strong, considering the dimensions of the issue. He chugged the first glass, but heartburn in his chest worked as a reminder he’d have better get back to reality, cut off the mockery he was carrying on to sugar-coat what happened and try to think about it as a responsible adult. _A responsible adult, probably in his middle-life crisis, having a crush on a mate and colleague. James, James, James, what the hell have you done to me?_

He poured some more and brought both the bottle and the glass with him, to go and sit on the armchair.

_I know I’ve almost assaulted you, James. But it was your fault, in the end. Anyway, I’m going to apologize. I should apologize. I have to, I guess nobody’s pleased by being suddenly cornered and – oh hell – kissed._

He kept sipping at the liquor while replaying the whole scene in his head up to the point when he’d felt James’s lips brush against his, when a quick shiver run up his back and he instinctively licked his lips: _James, for all that’s holy, why did you try to kiss me back?_

That was the key point of it all, the peak after which everything had started to collapse; for as ridiculous as it might have been, his plan to assimilate James’s secret for happiness or whatever his wicked mind was looking for would have ended as abruptly as it had started, for bad or for good. Jeremy suspected everything would have been solved by now, if James hadn’t tried to kiss back: he could have gotten away satisfied with his pointless victory, or disappointed by the miserable reality that James tasted nothing like he’d imagined, he could have just said something stupid to cover his bitterness and go back home. He could also have apologised for that!

_But no! You’ve tried to kiss me back, you… you’ve made it a bloody serious thing James, it’s your fault if- no, ok, it’s my fault, I’ve done an inconsiderate thing, I owe you, but… why the hell didn’t you pull back? Why didn’t you just punch my face? Sod you and your bloody justification, I didn’t know what I wanted, I just wanted to taste you, you could have said you wanted to kiss me first! I… I probably would have let you…_

He brokenly dropped his head in a mix of shame and resignation before formulating the next thought:

_…especially because, since you did what you did, now it’s me wanting to kiss you again._

He chugged what was left in the glass and promptly filled it again, draining the bottle - a sign he should stop thinking, having ended the lubrification he needed for such a psychoanalytical strain. He squinted, both for his last realization and for the burning stomach, but despite the latter he nursed what was left of the whiskey until the last drop. Regardless of all the care he was giving to it, that last glass was particularly unsympathetic towards him, speaking directly to his numbed mind and asking quite ruthless questions, peaking in a last, dreadful one: ‘What if you weren’t such an idiot to have drew back? You could have already had your gorgeous James all for yourself’. _This spirit knows too many things_ , he concluded, just before gulping down the last sip. He headed for the medicine chest to grab the sleeping pills, but after having considered how everything was wobbling around him he decided the amount of alcohol he had had would work quite the same, so he went straight to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd overslept, badly. To the point that he needed to make a couple of calls, even before having had a shower and taken his coffee, to postpone his morning appointments, trying to sound as professional as possible despite the killing headache. _Why the hell did I… oh, yes, right, that_ , he cursed himself for the dreadful hangover he woke up with, promising himself to deal with _that_ later and in person, at least as a matter of respect to James.

In the late afternoon, after having finally managed to accomplish all the tasks in his schedule - by the means of having given up his lunch, hoping it might count as a part of expiation for his latest sinful move, he got home and made himself deal with the fact he still owed James an explanation, or some excuses at least – _explanations are dreary things_.

The hangover he’d dealt with in the morning didn’t prevent him from opening a bottle of rosé, _for inspiration_ , since it was too early for whiskey, and it had proved to be an untrustworthy counsellor. He took a sip of wine before sitting on the armchair with his head in his hands, trying to come out with a sensible thing to tell James. Unless his colleague had been – again – faster than him and had already sued him for abuse, which would have been absolutely understandable.

So, before his attorneys had the chance to ring him up with their exasperate tone of voice – _as if I wasn’t the one feeding their families_ , he came to terms with having to make a move and offer James his apologies for what had happened.

Apologies first, because even if James should have been used to, _probably resigned to_ , Jeremy's harassments by now, Jeremy knew what he'd done was definitely over the line.

And, probably, apologies only, since explaining his reasons to James would be pretty hard without sounding mental. Maybe James would be so sensible to accept his apologies without investigating any further, or Jeremy himself could openly deny any valid reason behind his act, for good measure. But he'd already told James he wasn't taking the piss, so he's missed that chance - and, despite it being the easy way out, he didn't feel like denying the whole thing.

But, even hypothetically ignoring James's reaction, how could he explain to James he's got some kind of a crush on him? It’d been overall easy – _outrageously easy, even considering the mid-life crisis, but it’s not the point right now_ – to accept it, but confessing the whole issue to someone else first, and second, particularly to James himself, it was a different thing. It was a matter of friendship, trust, and financial interest as well. And... he didn't want to take the risk of hurting him, _since James kissed back_.

He unsuccessfully examined a few options, none of them sounding exhaustive, coherent or sincere enough while he pondered over them through the reflections of each glass of wine, like he was performing some kind of divinatory art. _Bollocks, I’ll just say I’m sorry,_ he concluded while trying to collect the last drops of wine from the emptied bottle, then he checked the time on his wristwatch and stood up.

Jeremy tried his luck not ringing up James in advance, hoping to find him at home, because texting him ‘I’m coming to apologize for having tried to kiss you’ or anything similar was beyond his reach, and he feared it would only result in making James run away at an unusual speed for his standards.

His finger missed the doorbell once – _not a good sign_ – before ringing it.

James opened the front door and, as soon as he spotted Jeremy, he promptly scowled at him: “What are you doing here?”

Jeremy scanned James from head to toe: his brain objectively recorded that James was wearing one of his frightful shirts god only knows where he'd found them, but something inside him couldn’t help thinking there was something appealing, something irresistible in James all dishevelled and alerted like that. That realisation made any acceptable formulation of the apologies Jeremy wanted to make vanish from his brain, and he just managed to say: "Can you please switch back to be the usual annoying old lady? Because I don’t know how many times I’ll resist your charming attitude again.”

"Seasonal change makes you weird, Clarkson, and alcohol doesn’t help either.”

"Can I come in?”

Looking already close to exasperation, James rebuked him: "Listen Jeremy, first you’ve attempted to kiss me, now you pop at my front door asking me to stop seducing you - and you're not even that drunk. What shall I brace for next?”, but then he moved aside to let Jeremy walk inside.

He closed the door and turned around, to find Jeremy planted in the middle of the hallway, jacket still on, facing him. James placed himself in front of the door, arm crossed, waiting for Jeremy to make a move.

The thick air made Jeremy briefly think about going back and call it all off, blaming the alcohol, but James was standing in his way and didn't look keen on bearing another pointless drama of his. So, he just stayed there, searching for the right words to say. It might have taken him too long though, enough for James to speak first:

"Ok since you seem unable to, I'll try to sort it out myself; I assume it should sound something like 'Sorry James, I've made an horrific misstep, thankfully I've done no harm to anyone or anything, so please forgive me and let's move on like nothing happened'. But I guess the 'please forgive me' part sounds a bit unrealistic."

Jeremy reflected for a couple of seconds on James's words, almost offended that James was considering him such a coward. And, since James had practically admitted he wasn’t expecting anything from him, he considered the apologies a closed subject, _so_ _thank you James_ , and he concentrated instead on the important detail James had - deliberately, he suspected - skipped. _Interesting._

"It's rubbish, honestly, you've done better impressions of me before", he commented bitterly, before hinting at it, “and you’re missing the fact that _someone_ seemed interested in seeing where my misstep was going, am I wrong?”

James blushed, his eyes opened wide and Jeremy suspected he also raised his hair like a startled cat. Jeremy grinned at the unmistakable sight of having hit the spot, while James tried to pull himself together:

"That... that doesn't matter actually, you're retracting your actions first, no point in discussing my reaction. Especially considering yours right after, also", he managed to reply, his determination slowly catching up.

_What?_ "I'm not retracting anything you daft!”

James rolled his eyes and leant against the door, visibly annoyed. He shook his head in some kind of disbelief, so fearing to be misunderstood Jeremy almost begged him:

"James could you please just let me talk?”, and that simple request, to Jeremy’s relief, somehow worked to make James accept to deal with him.

"Fine. Tea?”

"Yes please” Jeremy said, finally taking his jacket off, and followed James to the kitchen. As soon as he sat at the table, Jeremy started talking again:

"Ok, so what I've been tryin-“

"Shh. Tea first.”, James cut him off and start fumbling around the kitchen, opening and closing almost every drawer, cabinet and jar around looking for god knows what until the water boiled, strategically avoiding meeting Jeremy’s gaze. Jeremy kept sitting down, divided between the sincere will to sort things out and an increasing homicidal instinct fuelled by James’s obsessive-compulsive behaviour around him.

Once he poured the tea and ended carrying out what Jeremy labelled as ‘half a million useless actions’, James finally sat down, placed his hands around the mug and looked straight at Jeremy, who couldn’t help to compare him to some kind of long-haired wizard, with wary blue eyes ready to cast a spell from behind the steam rising from the tea.

"So, let's hear it, why did you try to kiss me the other day?”

_'Because you looked like the sweetest slice of watermelon at 4 o'clock in an August afternoon and I wanted to taste you'_ was the first thing that came out of Jeremy's gut, but thankfully his brain was on duty and prevented him from actually saying that. He raised a finger to gain some more seconds to come out with a less explicit metaphore, still unwilling to lie but aware he couldn’t just get straight to the point.

"Because it felt the right thing to do. Even if the execution has been questionable, I grant you”, which wasn’t one of his best worded statement but it would do, he decided, especially since James squinted at his words, took a sip of tea and kept asking:

"So you weren't taking the piss?”

"As I've already told you, no.”

James nodded and took another sip, unaware of how much he was trying Jeremy’s patience with his rituals and inappropriate, at least for Jeremy’s standards, calmness, before going on:

"Then why-“

"Oh, shut up, it’s my turn to ask. Why did you kiss back?”, and James didn’t have time to act annoyed by Jeremy’s prevarication because the embarrassment caused by that question grew as fast as the blush rising on his neck.

"Because I was too floored by your move to consider the consequences of that choice”, he promptly answered, words coming out of his lips so quickly Jeremy thought he had already rehearsed the phrase a few times. After having spoken, James hid behind a long gulp of tea.

Jeremy mirrored James and took a sip from his cup, then objected:

"That's not an answer.”

“You won’t get any other.”

“Come on James, I’m here admitting I’ve deliberately tried to kiss you! You can’t treat me like that!”

James ignored Jeremy’s plea and kept sipping his tea, with his eyes half-closed; despite it was supposed to be a relaxing activity, James was showing an almost imperceptible frown that didn’t go unnoticed under Jeremy’s concerned examination of James’s features. Jeremy imagined the complicated couplings of microscopic gears, that he assumed James’s mind was made of, running at full speed to produce an answer, a reaction or at least a witty come-back.

He wanted to give him all the time he needed and forbade himself from talking again until James had spoken first. _Time goes by so slowly when you’re restraining yourself from doing something_ , he thought, and relied on his competitiveness to try and win this sort of quiet game. James took the last sip and put the cup down; he glanced at Jeremy, who tried to respond with a genuine smile, still not talking, then he stared at a random point at the wall behind Jeremy and finally spoke:

“You can be bloody unbearable even when you stand still without saying a word, you know?”

Jeremy grinned proudly, satisfied by having obtained James’s reaction, but kept silent. His strenuous effort might have been working.

“Oh, bollocks. Ok, I’ve kissed you back because I’m… interested, Jeremy. But this doesn’t invalidate my first answer, I’m well aware I’ve underestimated what such a reaction would have caused. And this conversation is the proof I was right”, he said, avoiding looking at Jeremy the whole time.

Jeremy’s jaw almost dropped into the cuppa at James’s words, and when he was able to talk again he could only repeat James's words, still unsure he'd got them right:

“You are _interested_?” _Oh._

James nodded slowly while staring at the bottom of the empty cup he was now fumbling with.

“Oh. Well, I supposed you could be”, Jeremy said, in an attempt to look smug while giggling in satisfaction, but James blurted defensively:

“Are you even trying to understand what it means to me or are you just happy you’ve had a point, you imbecile oaf?”

“Oh, er, sorry, I was… well I was happy I’ve had a point, but just because it involves _you_ , being interested, in _me_. And I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Oh really? Because you’ve just said you supposed I was.”

“I _supposed_ it, James, damn, it was a hypothesis! There were million reasons- well, not millions, actually, but anyway, a few reasons you might have had to kiss back, and I wasn’t even sure you did, and you still could just lie to me or sod me off… so, you actually saying that you’re interested is, well, unexpected.”

“And probably unwise. And totally miserable. Oh god why I’m having this conversation with you?”, James said, before putting his head on the table and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, just beside his empty cup of tea. Jeremy moved the cup away and leant in to speak straight to James’s uncovered ear:

“Because you’ve just said you’re interested in me and I may be interested in you and that makes the whole thing sound curiously mutual?”

“Obviously”, James answered from inside his arm, then raised his head and looked straight at Jeremy, “Apart from the huge difference between me being somehow interested in you – with all the overanalysing you’re hinting at, yes, you git – and you being overexcited about a furtive brushing of lips. I’m sure you can see the difference, right?”

And then Jeremy saw it, almost at the same time he saw the whole almost-kissing issue inflating into a ten-time larger scenario that involved James’s sincere feelings, where he felt like a bull in the china shop. Probably James was underestimating Jeremy’s feelings, as Jeremy already determined they were more serious than the overexcitement James had assumed, but still, things were different. _Because James didn’t only kiss back, James is interested. And that changes everything._

Avoid hurting James suddenly became his main goal, whatever it might require. Perhaps admitting that the whole thing had escaped from his hands could have worked: he just would have to blame the fault on himself, at least to postpone the incoming argument Jeremy felt unavoidable. Better be quick, then, so he started speaking off the cuff trying his best to sound thoughtful and sincere:

“It’s not like that. I couldn’t imagine you were actually interested, first, despite I’ve thought about it – please believe I did James, I bloody did – and well, I didn’t know what I was actually hoping for, but you are doing something to me James, you’ve been doing it since we met again after the break, and I couldn’t help kissing you. And as I may do it again, I think we’d better clarify this odd situation once and for all.”

_That must have been a bit too sincere_ , considering James’s astonishment in hearing such a declaration, that showed in his eyes for long enough to make Jeremy’s mind struggle to find a suitable comparison for the shade of blue they’d turned to, but in the end Jeremy was quite satisfied with it. Less with James’s reaction:

“Is your clarification somehow intended to consider my point of view on the thing or just meant to clear your conscience and let you go on freely?”

_Bloody hell James you’ve had ages to get used to being a homosexual, I’ve just had the worst epiphany of my whole life, how can I be attentive to your point of view if I don’t even understand mine?,_ he would have liked to reply, but he swallowed down his rant and tried to rephrase his objection:

“James do you realize what it’d taken for me to come here and practically shout out I’ve turned into a bloody homosexual? Does it look like I’ve evaluated anything else?”

James could have answered ‘some liquid courage, and there was no need to shout’ but Jeremy felt like James got the sense of it, at least he hoped so because he was really trying his best and didn’t know what else to do.

Instead, James reflected for a few seconds on Jeremy’s word and then said “Ok, take your time then.”

Jeremy blinked in surprise: he was prepared to be offered a take-or-leave chance, ready to fight rather than flight, even – in what would have been his best case scenario – willing to give evidence of his keen interest by straightforwardly snogging James right then and there. He didn’t know what to do with James’s offer, both because he was waiting for a request instead, and because he really couldn’t see why they should wait longer. He was taken aback enough to suspect he didn’t get James’s words right: “What do you mean?”

“That we’re done for today. Please take some time, also to evaluate my point of view if I may ask, and then we’ll discuss this further. It’s not something that can be rushed, I think you’ll agree with me”. James spelt out his proposal like he was postponing a production meeting or a test-drive, instead of the kind of openhearted clarification Jeremy was thinking of, to his further confusion. That said, James stood up, took the cups from the table and placed them in the sink, then grabbed Jeremy’s jacket and gave it to him.

“James are you politely kicking me out?”

“No, if you have any other topic to discuss. Otherwise, yes: you’ve said you haven’t evaluated this thoroughly, perfect, I’ll be waiting all the time you need.”

“But…”, Jeremy tried to object, but James left him alone and walked to his front door. Jeremy stood up, still bewildered by the last developments of their interaction, and reached James. He was too dumbstruck to say anything else, and probably James saw his confusion and tried to persuade him:

“Jeremy. It’s going to be helpful for the both of us”, he said, his hand already grabbing the handle, “I guess you’ll understand everything more clearly if you’ll think about it a little more – sober. Now, please, go.”

He dabbed a peck on Jeremy’s lips, too quick for Jeremy to react apart from a genuinely surprised smile, then he opened the door and invited Jeremy out. Still dazed by James’s move, Jeremy stepped outside and heard the door close right behind him.

He walked up to the main road feeling like he was floating in mid-air, dumbfounded by James’s behaviour. He hailed a cab, keeping his fingers crossed for the driver to be a quiet one, and his wish got fulfilled.

_So what’s the morale of it all, he gave me a peck but he threw me outside, or he threw me outside but he'd made sure he'd pecked me before I go? That’s bloody confusing James. Jaaames! Is this your sodding point of view? Utter inconsistency and confusion? How can I evaluate your point of view if you’re a living oxymoron?_

But James was right – as usual. For as much as he’d thought about James’s share in the whole thing, it was mostly to try and blame him for whatever had happened in his mind. Now that he knew that James was interested, well, it changed everything.

Because James being _interested_ meant he had somehow found something _interesting_ in the ensemble of questionable qualities Jeremy considered himself – and that might have accounted for that little peck, at least he hoped so. But the whole ‘throwing him out, taking time, and never having talked about it before’ package made pretty clear that James was well aware of who he was dealing with. _I would have shovelled myself out as well, probably, if I were him._


	4. Chapter 4

During the last few weeks, Jeremy had unintentionally proved that he was able to nurture his crush on James and still go on with his standard life, as nothing was happening. Until that attempt to kiss him.

After that, the genuine nonchalance about his odd interest to James should have been replaced by a worried concern of what else he might end up recklessly doing, logically, the same way he realized he’d better not making an announcement of his infatuation and whatever it may have implied. He rationally knew he’d better keep his outcomes to himself, at least to avoid affecting the show. But James had kissed him back, _James is interested_ , James had given him time to think about his sodding point of view and the only result Jeremy had obtained was just that everything got more difficult, having growth a possibility-induced nervousness instead of a worried one.

First, because the fact James was interested had made Jeremy’s attempt to keep his crush to himself look extremely pointless to his own eyes, since after James’s declaration of interest he really couldn’t see why they’re not pleasantly snogging yet, according to his own clear outlining of the circumstances - dangerously clear: _me, you, kissing._

Nevertheless, despite the crystal clear outline, he couldn’t take the risk of hurting James for the sole reason of a test-ride: he actually had thought about it and, in a spurt of wisdom, he admitted that despite his own best intentions and hopes there was the chance that snogging James wouldn’t feel as good as he had assumed. That would be quite a defeat for Jeremy, but probably a whole disaster for James first, and for whatever they’d been up to until that day right after.

Also, because God only knew what James’s point of view was. Was he annoyed that Jeremy clumsily knocked over his – already weakened, in Jeremy’s opinion – heterosexual wall? Was he relieved that Jeremy was finally showing some interest as well – _no, definitely no, maybe shocked, but definitely not relieved, for what it seems._ But among all the questions that had come to his mind about the terms of James’s interest, there was one that seemed to bother Jeremy the most: had James gone so far in his evaluation, he was asking himself, to contemplate anything further than kissing?

Because his crush on James was the perfect one: an infatuation played by the book, especially since the last developments, with the mandatory butterflies in the stomach and the now almost desperate desire to feel James’s lips under his, and kiss him, not necessarily sitting in a tree, but still, kissing. The matter was that he recalled, from the occasional consultation of specialized press when he was a youngster, that the homosexual agenda involved, according to his comprehension of the movement, a lot of penis-related activities he really couldn’t conceive as desirable.

Instead, kissing seemed the perfect thing to do, _I know this means I’ve aged into a mushy wreckage of a man, but can’t we just do the kissing?_ And if his middle life crisis should have come up as a regressive behaviour to a teenage stage, well, wasn’t a fiery infatuation just another declination of it, instead of buying oneself a sportscar?

More confused than he was before, after a couple of days Jeremy surrendered to his own inability to deal with the whole scenario – _it must take some astrophysics-level intelligence to pursue this homosexual cause_ , he thought, and did what he referred to as “seeing a specialist”, so he texted James:

‘I failed miserably at the task you’ve given me. Can we talk about it in person?’

Less than a minute later his phone beeped at James’s reply:

‘My place, tonight. Don’t get here pissed or I’ll leave you outside’

He waited until the evening before driving up at James's, and when he got there he was reliefed to see the lights were still on; James was waiting for him, he registered, as the door opened while his finger was still on the bell.

“Welcome Clarkson.”

“’llo.”

Jeremy went straight to the living room; he took his jacket off, threw it on the armrest and then sat right in the middle of the sofa, so that James made do with sitting on the armchair, almost in front of him. None of the two seemed interested in pleasantries, so Jeremy got straight to the point:

"James. I might have been slightly imprecise about the reason I wanted to talk with you."

"Mh?”

"I swear I've tried to understand your point of view on the whole issue, I also have a few theories that might or not work, but it turned out there's another problem here, and it's me."

He realised a split second too late that he’d offered James the perfect chance for a sharp comeback, but to his disappointment James didn’t seem to be in the mood for joking - and therefore probably too stiff to deal with Jeremy’s set of problems. He was right, as James just offered him a harsh "What?" in response.

James’s supposed lack of understanding, pretended or genuine, made Jeremy burst:

"Bloody hell James how do you manage to deal with this? Because I think I'm going mad, I’ve got tainted with this homosexual fever and it's driving me insane!"

"Jeremy you're being a twat, you know right?"

"I'm not! It's the state of things James: I know I've a crush on you and I'm perfectly fine with that, I know I've tried to kiss you and well that's objectively worse but I can't deny I'd try again to, the problem is I can't conceive all that... penis-related... activities... that... bleurgh James, don't make me think about that, please, that's disgusting..."

While Jeremy was listing his latest discoveries James must have at least gotten the dimensions of the issue behind Jeremy’s words, if not the meaning, because his gaze got sharper, but his voice turned to an almost soft, understanding tone, something that made Jeremy feel like James was finally caring for him:

"Jezza, I'm not sure I've understood what you're trying to say..."

Neither Jeremy was sure to, not knowing if he was looking for an explanation, an absolution or just a green light that would have allowed him to snog James down if not to the bed - _no, no bed, absolutely no bed, bed is for penis things -_ at least to the sofa:

"Is there a score, a ranking, some kind of test to understand my grade of homosexuality? Because I really can't figure it out how much of a gay I am.”

"Again, I'm not sure I completely got your point Jeremy, but I guess it's all about what you feel, you shouldn't care about labels or anything, there isn’t any list of commandments to follow.”

"But how can I understand your point of view if I don't even know mine? What if I go on and kiss you, me, an entry-level gay, and you're a high priest of the phallic cult and therefore I shouldn't even dare to go for you?"

James was still looking at Jeremy like he was playing a drama in a foreign language. A particularly avant-garde drama. But apparently tried to bear with Jeremy, keeping his indulgent tone of voice:

"There's no… rank or anything, Jeremy. Whatever you feel it’s right, it’s not something you should be ashamed of or-“ but Jeremy cut him off:

"May are you trying to talk me into this?"

"No. It's your choice.”

"Are you some kind of high priest then?”

"Told you, there isn't any ranking.”

"But you do... have done… penis… things?”

"Jeremy please, I can't discuss this kind of topic, not like this...”, James then begged, rolling his eyes.

"Oh God you did!”, Jeremy yelled, shocked by the realisation he’d just had, for James to shout back, not so indulgent anymore:

"I haven't said anything!”

"That's the point! You haven’t said no!”

In almost palpable discomfort, James closed his eyes and let out a long breath, probably trying to recover his previous tone, partially succeeding:

"Listen Jeremy, I've been trying to be understanding, but if you keep behaving like a five-year-old, I have no choice but cut this conversation off. And I hoped you’d realised I could be not as enthusiastic as you about your recently discovered ‘homosexuality’, but apparently you didn’t. I was waiting for some ‘sorry I got everything wrong’ kind of talk, honestly, not such an investigation on my sexual preferences.”

 _Oh, sod off, I don’t want to know your taste in chaps May, I just want to kiss you,_ was what came to Jeremy’s mind in response, but he felt too much on thin ice to attack James like that, so, _rephrasing, quickly._

"James. You were the one asking me to consider your point of view. Please try and consider mine."

James shifted in the armchair and tried:

"Ok. I guess you're confused, and I understand your wariness but in the end it's all up to you, it's not much different from what you consider when you’re dealing with a woman.”

It wasn't what Jeremy was waiting for, so, in an outburst of sincerity, he lost it:

"James it's almost a week I'm dying to kiss you, but I don't want to have anything to do with your cock, that's bloody different than dealing with a woman!"

James blushed at those words, losing the almost professional stance he kept the whole time he was playing the counsellor, so Jeremy boldly tried to take advantage of James’s temporary embarrassment:

"What's your point of view about it, then? I’ve just told you mine, pretty clearly.”

"I’ve told you Jeremy. You know I'm interested, and you were right about the overthinking. I never imagined we could get to this point, sincerely I never actively tried to get here because the results of my analysis of such a scenario were... dreadful, Jeremy, I'm afraid.”

"So you're interested in me but you don't want me around?"

"That's... not exactly what I mean, but... sort of.”

"Does it involve my old chap?"

“Jeremy please."

"No, don't dodge my question, I'm serious, I want to understand", and for once, he meant it.

James took a deep breath, as to gather all his courage, then lowered his head and answered from behind a curtain of his own hair:

"God please don't make me say such a thing twice: yes, it involves your chap, because - again - I'm _interested_ and that might hypothetically include dealing with your chap at a certain point. But the fact is I think that, whatever we might do, it’s going to turn to rubbish way before than getting to that point. So, as much as I’m professing myself interested, I also know that mine is a terrible idea, so I’m not willing to pursue it. Ok, I've said it.”

Jeremy froze, shocked by James’s answer, looking at him in an almost ridiculous astonishment.

"Please don't do like that, it's already embarrassing even if you don't stress it", James asked and passed a hand through his hair, without raising his head afterwards.

"It's not the penis thing, you twat. It's... your interest, your wide-ranging, carefully dissected interest. I never thought you could...”

"...be such a miserable pansy? Thank you Jeremy." James bitterly concluded. _Oh hell, that’s not what I mean,_ Jeremy almost panicked, and blurted defensively:

"No, shut up, stop snivelling. It's that... oh, bollocks, can we just go and kiss now?” _Great. Well, at least I’ve got to the point._ Not the way he meant to get back to pay attention to his main goal, nor the best timing either, it’d just slipped out and now he had to deal with it - and with James’s reaction as well, which considering how he froze with a hand on his nape that seemed glued there, was going to be harsh: "Jeremy are you bloody kidding me?"

"Well... no? I mean, we've gone through each other points of view now, that's what you wanted right?", he tried to save it, but James wasn’t probably even hearing him, he leapt to his feet and just kept going:

"Did the fact I'm scared of what such an inconsiderate act may cause vaguely reach your ears a few seconds ago?"

“It did, but come on, are you really allowing your wicked overthinking to actually prevent you from pursuing your interest?", _come on_ _James, I swear I’m trying, please don’t make it that difficult._

James looked straight at Jeremy, cold and almost menacing:

“Jeremy. This is not a joke to me.”

Jeremy stood up, shifting to stand right in front of James; he was going to instinctively put his hands somewhere over him, on his shoulders, or on the forearms, but he realized that might have been too much, so he was just satisfied that James hadn't taken a step back.

"James. If I’d meant to hurt your feelings, I would have taken the piss out of you long- well, yes, I’ve always did, ok, but this is different, and I don’t want to hurt you in any way. I can't say I'm interested, especially not with the deep meaning you've just explained you give to the term, because I really don't know where this is going. But I'm bloody dying to kiss you. “

"I got it! But I'm not sure that..."

"Do I look like someone sure of himself?"

"You're doing better than me apparently. But still, it’s not a good idea", James replied and turned away, shaking his head in disapproval.

"James. Please let’s just kiss. As you've said, it's going to turn rubbish and so on, so the whole issue it’s going to resolve by itself with no harm done”. Jeremy turned the palm of his hands upwards as he’s just found the easy way out. Not persuaded, James shook his head again and firmly said:

"I can't, Jeremy. I'm sorry”, then, in a lower, slightly bitter tone, added “It's… It wouldn’t be that harmless to me”. He run his hand in his hair a couple of times and scratched his nape, avoiding looking at Jeremy, then he sat down again, collapsing into the armchair.

It took Jeremy a couple of seconds to understand the meaning under James’s reason, and a couple more to deal with the spike of pity he’d just felt for James; after having recovered, he just managed to say “Ok, it’s fine, I got it”, breaking the awkward silence between them and hoping to stop James from fidgeting in the attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Sorry if I tried so hard – I really wanted to, I still do, but I got it, James, you’ve been clear.”

_And I’m sorry I’m being such a bellend to your eyes that you don’t even feel like giving it a try. I am, I really am sorry James. But probably you’re damn right – as usual, and I’m not going to be anything but rubbish at this. And, as you fear, hurt you without even realising it. I am so bloody sorry James._

"No problem. You've been way much respectful for your standards, honestly”, James concluded, but now it was Jeremy that felt almost attacked and couldn’t help retort:

“Oi, shall I say thank you?”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, I’m sure you agree with me.”

“Well… I do. But it’s been… easy James. I mean, I never thought I could discuss penis-related stuff seriously, not with anybody else. And I still don’t know how I managed to. It’s all thanks to you, frankly.”

James let out a shy little smirk, then went back to scratching his nape, lingering there, his gaze lost at a random point in the corner of the room.

“I guess I got to go now, right?”, Jeremy offered, still hoping in some kind of wizardry that would make James change his mind - in vain.

“I can’t see any reason for you to stay. Any sensible reason.”

“Right. So, goodbye James, see you on Monday.”

“Bye Clarkson. Thanks for coming.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow to James’s last statement, then grabbed his jacket and walked away, leaving James still sat in his armchair. He closed the door behind him and walked to his car.

No peck this time. No further appointments. No chances in changing James’s mind, apparently.


	5. Chapter 5

_It’s fine, I managed to deal with this for more than a month, I can deal with it longer, it’s going to pass sooner or later._

It was less easy than he assumed: Jeremy thought it could go away with it like he’d done before _that_ had happened, but he found himself double-checking the cheekiest jokes of their scripts to be sure that they didn’t remotely hint at what had happened between him and James, and even reworded an almost perfect comeback to avoid any possible reference to their incident.

He tried to be as subtle as possible in those moments when his gaze fell on that overly attractive James, because the couple of times Jeremy got caught in the act, James looked back at him anything but happy, and promptly turned his gaze away.

Furthermore, there was the still unfulfilled wish to go and try what James tasted like: it wasn’t a continuous thought, fortunately, but it struck sometimes, and to Jeremy’s increased worry it wasn’t even necessarily linked to anything particularly brilliant James had said or done. It could happen when James was shaking his head to fix his hair after having taken off the helmet – with questionable results, but still, or while he was having a smoke on the side of the track, backlit, with the sunlight highlighting his profile _;_ anyway, at random times in the day, his desire to kiss James suddenly reappeared, often under the form of a particularly suffered ‘Oh Christ’ murmured between himself.

But the worst consequence of it all seemed to be the sudden realization that had hit him for the first time at exactly 3:47 the night after they’d last talked, and that kept reappearing at random moments, way more inappropriate than his crave for a kiss: _James had evaluated the chance of doing things with my penis_.

He just asked for a kiss, and James was almost offering the whole package. And he didn’t know what to do with that. Because of the unusual number of penises involved, mainly, but also because relationships are a thing, and sodding off a more than a decade long friendship is another – and he wasn’t sure about none of them. _Not that there’s a chance, since James doesn’t want to mess with me,_ but Jeremy had always been particularly reluctant to accept James’s justifications, and to pursue his goal he could have also contemplated t- _no, just saying, no chances._

Days passed and Jeremy was quite sure he was doing great in spite of everything: he managed to maintain Hammond’s concerned side glances around the standard rate and allegedly didn’t break James enough to dent his public persona; the show kept turning out great and nobody was suspecting anything, and James had proved himself as the most correct person in the world, thankfully, so that everything was going on with no drama.

When he was asked to make a wish in front of his birthday cake at the office – a cupcake with a single candle thickly wrapped in tinfoil, with two tinfoil balls at the base – Jeremy labelled that tradition as childish; but he then spotted James in the little crowd gathered around him and thought _Well, you never know,_ before blowing out the candle.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a Tuesday morning at the track: Jeremy casually strolled up to the workshop, finding some of the guys gathered around what he reckoned being a particularly stubborn piece of metal, coming from one of the props of their past challenges, that was refusing to come loose. He caught sight of James among them, so he got closer and saw that James was the only one pushing the far end of a beam downwards, while the rest of the team was fumbling around the other extremity where it was connected to the rest of the structure, to try to dismantle it.

Trying to be helpful, Jeremy instinctively set himself next to James, on the other side of the beam, placing his hands between James’s and where the fulcrum of James’s strain was, pushing down with all his weight. James shook his head at him:

“Jeremy that’s not an efficient way to help, you’re too close to-“

“Shut up, it’s working, the guys are already unscrewing it”, Jeremy hushed him, and kept pushing, with James going on complaining:

“Your hands are in the wrong place! Do you want me to explain how torque works?”, and from then on Jeremy stopped listening to James and his lecture on physics, but while forcing the piece down he realised how close they were, how James’s hot breath was hitting his nape and how his buttock cleavage was probably showing, given the breeze he was feeling at the bottom of his back.

He wasn’t sure who between the two of them could have felt uncomfortable the most, but anyway he decided that, given the premises, such a proximity was surely wrong, so he abruptly retreated from his position, letting the grasp on the piece. Suddenly lacking Jeremy’s weight to balance the force on the other side, the beam promptly sprang away from James’s grip, almost hitting him in the face.

“Fuck – Clarkson you imbecile!”, was James’s first, scared reaction to the near miss, and Jeremy was probably as scared as him, as he promptly cried out:

“Oh God James, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“You useless piece of rubbish, you’ve almost killed me!”

“I… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry James!”

“Bollocks, I don’t care, you utter moron”, James concluded, striding away ragingly, and Jeremy could only look at him going towards the far end of the trackside buildings. When turning back to face the people around, Jeremy found all the crew members’ eyes on him; he shrugged and mumbled “I’ve said I’m sorry, I was just trying to help!”, but he felt guilty and was still startled by what could have happened to James because of his daft move. He walked outside, on James’s footsteps, and found him behind the last shack, leant against the wall having a drag.

As soon as James spotted Jeremy incoming he muttered “Go away”, taking the cig from his lips. Obviously, Jeremy didn’t, instead he kept walking towards James, conspicuously sorry for what had just happened, shaken and loudly expressing his regret until he was standing right in front of James:

“James I’m bloody sorry! I shouldn’t have messed with what you were doing, you know I’m hopeless at manual work!”

“Shut up”, James harshly replied, not even looking at him.

“You’re not hurt, right?”

“Bugger off, Jeremy.”

“Let me check.”

Jeremy cupped James’s face and turned it towards him, scanning for any sign of injury. James didn’t predict that move in time to react, thus he let Jeremy tilt his head, in silence, and carefully inspect it all around, like James was a fragile piece of art, or delicate like a baby. At the end of his examination Jeremy lingered a bit too long on James’s eyes, dark pools of rage on the verge of spilling out, but somehow receding under Jeremy’s gaze. He felt a knot in his stomach, that got tighter when he saw James slightly parting his lips, a burst of heat coming from his gut for which he couldn’t restrain himself from saying, with a shaky voice:

“James, I’m going to kiss you. Please tell me you don’t want me to, otherwise I’m kissing you. Now.”

“Jeremy… That’s… ill-advised at least…”, James stuttered, his eyes still wide open – rage turned in alert, and the cigarette slipping away from his fingers. Jeremy insisted:

“No, just clearly tell me ‘I don’t want you to kiss me’, or I’ll do it”.

James stared at him for a couple of seconds, and Jeremy was almost ready to call it a win and go ahead, but James leaned in first, his head slipping away from Jeremy’s hands, and kissed him. Properly, taking Jeremy’s mouth between his lips, kissing him eagerly and softly at the same time.

Jeremy went weak at the knees: he leant his weight on his palms, flat against the cold wall beside James’s head, and James placed a hand on his nape and pulled him closer, gently trying his tongue against Jeremy’s lips – successfully, as Jeremy was completely lost in James’s embrace and couldn’t ask for anything else. And despite the hints of smoke and sweat, Jeremy finally discovered that James tasted like glorious satisfaction, happy fulfilment and sweet, sweet relief. He didn’t know for how long they kept kissing before James said “We shouldn’t do this here”, just after breaking away from him, panting, but he decided it was too little.

“Er, right…” Jeremy murmured, trying to compose himself, but as soon as he looked back at James, he got grabbed and drawn in another kiss, to his surprise. It lasted a handful of seconds, maybe Jeremy’s stiffness advised James against going on, so it was again James the one pulling away saying “Ok, ok, not here”. Jeremy nodded and extinguished James’s fag with his foot before taking a step away, like he was testing the ground as he wasn’t sure he was floating in mid-air in bliss.

They walked back to the workshop, Jeremy a step ahead of James on the tarmac, somewhere between the Earth and the Moon in his mind: _We kissed. Yep, we definitely kissed. Oh God, we kissed. Well, he kissed me first – crikey, he's getting too much fun from this ‘coming first’ thing._

He got back to his usual self to shout at the crew, as soon as the guys turned towards the two of them coming back:

“See? No harm done, I’ve checked, he’s the same blithering idiot as he was before.”

Nobody laughed at his words, and the guys ignored him to approach James instead, asking him how he was doing, probably as he looked a bit dazed and was still flushed, for different reasons though; “I’m fine, no problem. Did you manage to take it apart despite the oaf’s intervention?”, he said, and got back to work with them. Jeremy, instead, went back to the portacabin and tried to recap what just happened.

 _‘We shouldn’t do it this here’ is very different than ‘we shouldn’t do it’,_ Jeremy noted, and even if he still was the best journalist between the two of them but, James wasn’t someone who doesn’t ponder words thoroughly – and he hoped that it still applied despite the heat of the moment. Slouched on the sofa, Jeremy almost felt ashamed with himself for keeping replaying the scene in his mind, eyes closed and a sheepish grin on his face. James had kissed him, James had wanted him, grabbed him and pulled him closer, James had turned what would have been a clumsy attempt into a proper kiss, James wanted to kiss him - only somewhere else, James tasted good, James had been bloody brilliant at kissing him. James, the same James that was interested in him but didn't want him around, had changed his mind and now wanted him. _Does this homosexualism work like a hay fever - a_ gay _fever - and get worse in full Spring?_ Because he might have just attempted to James's life or some fleshy part of it, right, but he was sure he has made up for it - even if he hoped that James wanted him to try and earn his forgiveness again. Many times.

His daydreaming was interrupted by Andy entering the portacabin, looking at him with a hint of disdain:

"You don't look so ashamed for almost having killed James.”

"Oh, they're quick. Anyway, it’s just been an accident, I've never- well, _this time_ I didn't mean to kill him.”

"Did you apologise to him at least?"

"Somehow, I think he got the sense"

and thankfully for him, Jeremy succeed in swallowing back a giggle and Andy didn’t ask further.


	7. Chapter 7

Jeremy saw James later, a quick peek while they were going for lunch with the rest of the crew, then again during the briefing about the plans for the afternoon. That was where he was finally able to check on James, by the means of a couple of furtive glances, and at that quick analysis James seemed unaffected by the recent events, it was the standard attentive, diligent James – apparently doing better than Jeremy, whose astonishment was still readable on his face.

In the late afternoon, it was the time for Jeremy to have some fun – disguised as a professional review – driving the last BMW around the track, and he found himself in the need of a higher level of concentration than usual at the task, to keep the car under control and also to avoid saying out on camera that the rush of adrenaline offered by going through a corner sideway on such a car was almost as intense as the one he’d gotten from having kissed James.

When he finally got back to the portacabin at the end of the day, he found James almost dismantling the sofa.

“What are you looking for, Slow?”

James answered without deflecting his attention from the task: “Mobile…”

“Isn’t it that one on the windowsill?”

James raised his head and looked at the window, placed the cushions back in place and went to take his mobile back. When he passed next to Jeremy heading for the door, they finally shared a look and Jeremy tried his luck:

“So… want to have a word, tonight?”

“Why?”

“Er…”, and he used that to somehow bleep out his actual reaction, _Bloody Nora James, ‘why’? Why, according to your sodding viewpoint? How can you be so daft?_ , before offering a more appropriate answer:

“I thought we should… discuss what happened today?”

"You've already apologized for your daft behaviour, no need to add anything”, plain and simple, _as if we haven't just kissed!_ , and Jeremy wasn't sure anymore if they did, because of James's controlled attitude. And, since that was James indeed, he tried again:

"James I'm sure you know what I mean…”

"Yes, I do, so better not, not tonight at least”, he explained.

"But we're filming tomorrow!”, Jeremy objected, already aware that they all would have moved straight to the pub right after the cut.

"Yeah, that's the point. See you tomorrow.”

James waved him goodbye, turned and started walking away, but Jeremy called him:

"James. Wait.”

He covered the couple of steps between the two of them, quickly checked nobody was around and got closer to James, unequivocally trying to go for a kiss:

"Can I?"

James smiled but pulled away, shaking his head:

"Jeremy. What are we doing?", he asked, looking at Jeremy with clear blue eyes that could have been on the verge both of a panic attack or a burst of laughs. Jeremy promptly retorted:

"Oi I’ve just offered you a chance to discuss it, but you've turned it down!”

"And that’s for the best, we're filming tomorrow. See you, good night”, James concluded, then he placed a quick peck on Jeremy's mouth before heading out, leaving him dazed: _Oh. He is a cheeky bastard and I quite like it,_ Jeremy thought, almost inadvertently, then he immediately inferred what his mind had just conceived and asked himself: _Did I just move a step higher on the gay ranking?_

Jeremy drove home on autopilot, his mind involved in way more important business than consciously driving a car – that was something his limbs could do for him, leaving the brain free to explore the outlooks of James’s change of mind. Because that was the point all the evidences were converging to: James had changed his mind, _for the best._ James was now actively interested in him, James had kissed him, James hadn’t panicked after they’ve kissed.

_Why couldn't we just meet tonight and discuss what we've done, or better skip the whole discussion part and just snog again, again and again?_

In all honesty, Jeremy was well aware of why James had postponed a further encounter, _you’re the slow but sensible one, May_ , it was obviously the right thing to do, but he didn’t know how long he would be able to refrain from trying to kiss him again, _now that he has changed his mind_.

Because James tasted delicious according to what Jeremy had experienced; beyond the objective hints of the cigarette James was smoking, there was a whole bouquet of pleasant aromas, like James himself was a red barriqued wine, with notes of rusty spanners, old books and teatime pastries. _That’s pretty mushy,_ Jeremy realized, so he tried to formulate a better description, something closer to his usual terms of comparison. It turned out James tasted of satisfaction, victory and accomplishment – still, tasteful enough to look forward to doing it again.

There was only a small detail that was bothering Jeremy underneath his overall happiness, and it was about James’s interest in the contents of his pants; he had spent so many sleepless night thinking about it that it didn’t sounded so extraneous anymore, also James had plainly admitted it and in the end Jeremy resolved he couldn’t be anything than flattered by it, but as things seemed to have moved a step further, that might have been something that needed some reconsideration. _Whatever James, please just kiss me again soon, then we’ll see._

The morning after Jeremy arrived at the track almost half an hour before his usual, Richard was parking his car and James was nowhere to be seen: it was the standard beginning of almost every Wednesday from a few years on, but that day Jeremy felt slightly different. Surely James’s decision to not meet up the night before was the correct one, but they were still going to face a whole day of side-by-side work and he was well aware of his natural inclination for making things worse, _not to mention James’s complete awkwardness_ , or the chance of James having changed his mind after he’d slept on it.

He was brooding over his concerns while ostensibly reading the news when Richard walked inside the portacabin and greeted him with a side eye, teasing:

“I’ve been informed that your lack of attitude for manual work almost killed James yesterday”

“It may be true; anyway, we’ve made up. And good morning to you, Hammond”, Jeremy answered from the sofa, not even raising his gaze from the newspaper, but Richard kept going:

“Sure? Because your head is still attached to your body, and James is usually not that diplomatic when it comes to meddling with his stuff - I know from experience.”

“He’s been particularly kind to me.”

Richard raised an eyebrow at Jeremy’s statement but didn’t investigate it further, moving to the coffee machine to start brewing a couple of cups.

He’d just given one to Jeremy when James finally got inside the portacabin – to Jeremy’s relief, and greeted them as usual:

“Good morning chaps, sorry if I’m late.”

Jeremy quickly checked on James: he looked like the same old James, even after they’d shared a glance, so it was ok to conclude that, fingers crossed, everything would have been alright.

Just like Jeremy had foreseen, filming went great, especially from Jeremy's point of view which contemplated, beside the standard parameters of technical fulfilment and audience satisfaction, his own capability of avoiding any possible double meaning or reference to what had happened the day before.

He knew that James’s choice of not meeting the night before was indeed the sensible one, but he was disappointed by the lack of chances to meet him again. He was evaluating the possibility to grab James aside and ask him to put up an excuse to avoid the pub and have a talk – _and a snog, possibly_ – the two of them alone, but then Andy came in, as his usual:

"Well done everybody! Now, pub?”, and James nodded in agreement, and Jeremy couldn’t help but doing the same.

After a few pints, Jeremy was slovenly leaning against the wall, thankful for once for having chosen the less chatty side of the table. James was talking with the guys at the other end, far enough from Jeremy for him to pretend he was just staring blankly at a random point if asked; nevertheless, a couple of times he got way too absorbed in his own reflections, made up mainly by variations on the 'We’ve kissed - now what?' theme, and promptly carried back to reality by the next pint miraculously appeared in front of him. 

The third time it happened, he decided he’d had enough: he was grateful he wasn't drunk enough to make any insensible move so he went for another round just to congratulate himself for the commendable behaviour, then called it a day and stood up to go home. When walking towards the exit, though, he got stopped by James, leaning back on the chair enough to be in the way. It was just an innocent question, but Jeremy jolted at it all the same:

“Clarkson, is tomorrow night ok for that issue you wanted to discuss?”

 _Oh God James since when you're the forthcoming one here?_ , “Er… yes, nine? My place?”

“Ok, see you, good night Jezza”

“G’night James”, _hope you’re going to sleep because I probably won’t._


	8. Chapter 8

During the last 24 hours, Jeremy’s attitude towards the incoming meet up had changed its shape many times: from the initial excitement foreseeing a carefree snogging session, to a thoughtful reconsideration about James’s professed interest and its implication, passing through moments of self-pity for his mid-life crisis actualising in a gay crush for his co-presenter – _but at least I haven’t bought a Porsche 911_ , with spikes of panic at the thought of the potential _penis-involving_ activities James might have dragged him into.

He’d intended to not have a drink until James had gotten there, and it took all his willpower to resist, so when the bell ringed, his first reaction was of relief.

“Welcome James, can I pour you a glass of wine?”, Jeremy offered, trying to sound as casual as usual.

“I don’t think drinking is a good idea, if you’re willing to talk”, James answered, heading straight to the living room. Jeremy rolled his eyes and mocked him behind his back, before walking desolate after him.

“You’ve already made me go through this with way less alcohol than I needed”, he pointed out under his breath, but James must have heard him anyway, to just mutter “Jeremy”, his tone so reprimanding he didn’t have to add anything else to cause Jeremy’s grumpy reply:

“Oh come on, what are we going to do? Making out while drunk? We’ve done it sober!”

James sighed and shook his head before sitting down on the armchair as he was used to do, waiting for Jeremy to take his place on the sofa. Leant forward, sitting with elbows on knees, he tilted his head to scrutinise Jeremy before talking again:

“You’ve almost killed me. I could have been dead because of you.”

Jeremy winced, astounded by how, of all the things he was anticipating, James chose to point out that one.

“It wasn’t even the first time I’ve almost killed you! And your head is much harder than a steel beam”, he blurted in response, _and we should be discussing a completely different issue, please tell me you’re not here for that stupid accident._ James wasn’t in the mood for jokes:

“I’m not kidding Jeremy”

"But then you kissed me, so I guess I've been forgiven right?”, Jeremy offered, hoping to ease the mood and remember James of the way more significative event of that day.

"Not at all. That was a really hazardous move, so please never try again to get into that kind of activities, especially if I'm around.”

"But then you kissed me", Jeremy said again, this time with a hint of smugness and fingers crossed – because that was James _, and I know you’re damn able to lecture me on health and safety the whole night ignoring the fact WE KISSED_. And it worked, since James finally gave up beating around the bush, changed his attitude for the better and took a long breath in before admitting:

"Yes, despite you’ve almost killed me, and you kissed back and I'm quite sure I won't have to set up an interrogation to understand your reasons to, right?”

Jeremy grinned in response, foretasting the much longed-for chance for making out with James, away from prying eyes and comfortably sitting on the couch, and James went on:

"And… I've been thinking about what happened, beyond the attempted murder, I mean.”

"Me too, James.”

Actually, Jeremy's thinking had consisted mainly of replaying in his mind their first rushed, eager, and many more adjectives he kept finding fitting, kiss, sometimes extending to the second one they had briefly shared. Because in Jeremy's mind that was already perfectly reasonable: they’d kissed, they would kiss again, they'd keep kissing and so on, and James would have given him quick furtive pecks whenever they couldn’t have kissed properly.

The few times he’d tried to get further in his analysis, especially after James had admitted his interest, he had given up soon, acknowledging his failure: he kept looking for a possibility, a set of circumstances that would have made his comfortably-shallow, kissing-only relationship a perfectly acceptable one; instead, the more he thought about it, the worse it got.

He ended up overwhelmed by the awareness of the extent of James’s interest – up to the dreaded penis-related activities – and, worse, of his own feelings, up to the point it felt easier to just ignore them in favour of the consciousness of his almost complete ineptitude at every kind of relationship ever, given the evidences.

But then James had kissed him, and he had straightforwardly come to the conclusion that it was all about it, having omitted thinking about James’s point of view once again in the enthusiasm of the latest developments. And now that James was sitting right in front of him, with some kind of sheepish determination in his eyes, now so dark and shiny, Jeremy felt unprepared to deal with him – and with the turn their discussion was probably going to take.

He therefore quickly recognized that no, he hadn’t thought about it, not profitably at least. Not as much as James did, for sure. But James couldn’t read Jeremy’s mind, probably for the best, so he was left with the hope Jeremy had thought about it – enough to carry on with his train of thoughts:

“Well, I know I’ve told you I would have never made a move, but, as you’ve experienced, I've recently went back on my words – and I can’t blame it on being startled or anything, well maybe just for the part where I got caught off guard, but the point is that I’ve been thinking about this, about _you_ , Jeremy, and perhaps I'm willing to see where this may go, if you still fancy to...”

Jeremy followed James’s explanation only up to a certain point, nevertheless he was sure James wasn’t thinking about snogging freely there and then. At the realisation of James’s proposal, Jeremy’s eyes went wide, his heart skipped a beat and while his brain seize up, his mouth began speaking freely – unfortunately:

"James, if that is going to involve penises I'm still not-“

But at his words James burst in an unexpected rant, not even letting him finish his sentence:

"Jeremy nobody's attacking your penis, please stop talking about it! Can’t you really conceive any intermediate step between kissing behind a shack and having sex?”

Jeremy shook his head, more to dismiss the question and subdue James’s rant than to deny his consideration of the potential development of feelings during a whatsoever relationship. The words that had escaped from his gut weren’t totally pointless in the end, because if he’d had to admit – at gunpoint – what was the root cause of all his helplessness at dealing with the whole thing, not the fact that James was a bloke indeed, but that he was a bloke _down there_ , would have been a fair answer in the end.

However, it wasn’t the right time to hold James’s manhood against him, not more than Jeremy has accidentally done already, so he tried to deal with that fuming James by reformulating his statement, to try and get to the heart of the matter, with little success:

"James you've turned me into a homosexualist without even giving me a bloody operating manual, how can you hope I'd-"

But again, James roared over Jeremy:

"For the last time, there's no manual or anything!”, then went on, bitterly and with a lower tone, “And you wouldn't have read it anyway. And, for the records, it's really all about you. There are no right or wrong things to do, it’s just whatever it's okay for you.”

Jeremy listened, inwardly shaking his head at the utter unsuitability of James’s suggestions to his own situation, in which the problem was _exactly_ being ok with it, when ‘it’ translated into ‘being into James despite the contents of his underwear’. On the outside, his blank gaze didn’t succeed in moving James, who concluded bitterly:

“And I hoped for a different answer from you, sincerely, but I'm aware mine was, in fact, just a hope. I should have imagined, I guess this makes things easier in the end. Never mind, sorry for having asked Jeremy, I got it all wrong. I’d better be going now.”

James’s words felt like a hailstorm on Jeremy’s newly sprouted expectations: he knew it was basically his own fault, having managed to say the wrong things at the wrong time, _as usual_. Point was that James had always been so patient and understanding with him, had always given him another chance, therefore now that he’d already stood up and headed towards the door, Jeremy felt lost.

"James wait!”, he instinctively shouted while getting back to his feet to follow James, too alarmed to say anything better-worded than what he was miserably concluding:

“This means we will never kiss again? Even if I promise I’ll stop talking about penises?”

James halted and couldn’t help snorting at the absurdity of Jeremy’s questions; he turned around and looked at Jeremy before replying:

"You have your special ways of getting on my nerves, you know?”, with a faint smirk over the sad demeanour of resignation, in some kind of detached comprehension of Jeremy’s ineptitude in such a field - or at least Jeremy hoped that was the reason behind James’s decision to stop there and turned back. Because that was the point, in the end, so he decided he would have better stressed it out, loudly, before James had gone away:

"James I don't know anything! I actually don't know anything!”

James shook his head, disheartened, before offering what it felt the last chance to Jeremy, probably the last time James would have been prone to deal with his inconsistency:

“What do you mean now?”

So Jeremy decided to intensely think about it, to concentrate on each aspect of his bloody stupid fucking infatuation, especially on the sides where it wasn’t bloody stupid fucking at all – just terribly sincere, hoping for James to also understand the words he wasn’t going to be able to say:

“Listen, I know it’s my fault for having tried to kiss you first, and you’re probably expecting me to be conscious and aware of what I’m doing, but. The truth is… I really can’t see beyond the tip of my nose in this. It’s… there’s something, James, but I really don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know anything about this, about what I’m feeling, apart that I can’t help yearning to kiss you. Repeatedly. It’s… genuinely all I can offer you now- but please, James, please try to understand it, I’m sure you’ll understand it, I’m sure you’ll understand it’s something, coming from me.”

It felt like getting naked, on a glacier, in front of the Her Majesty, but it didn’t matter in the end, if he would have worked to explain his point. Jeremy was sure James didn’t need further suggestion about how utterly incompetent he might have been; he just hoped that he would have also understood all the things Jeremy had left unsaid.

James stared at him, silent; long seconds passed, and Jeremy thought James’s gaze was probably scanning through his skull, looking for whatever good it could have been inside it. James swallowed, then finally spoke again:

“Jeremy. You know I’m taking you seriously, right?”

“I am serious James, I bloody am”, _I swear I am James, please don’t think I could have gone this far just for taking the piss James, please believe me I’m trying my best._

Articulating each word like he was reading out a legally binding agreement, James asked him:

“So is yours an actual offer? Not just a self-interested request?”,

and despite the subject of his questions was Jeremy’s viewpoint, James’s voice was as shaky as it was his own commitment he was debating about.

Jeremy stiffened, concentrating every single drop of common sense in his mind to evaluate both the reasons to and the effects of whatever he was going to answer, all in a handful of seconds. About the firsts, he didn’t want to draw out those feelings that he had carefully swept under the carpet, it wasn't the right time, he didn’t want to analyse them there and then because he felt it would have made everything worse, but he also couldn’t pretend he was driven only by the pleasure of kissing James. _Fuck._

The consequences, the negative ones, weren’t entirely negligible, considering the extent of their current business relationship, not to talk about their friendship - that he feared it was already compromised. As for the positives, Jeremy thought they were probably even more dreadful, _because James is_ interested _, and he doesn’t take these things lightly, and I’d rather have my scrotum acupunctured daily than end up hurting him._

Jeremy cleared his throat and, hoping to sound as sincere as he actually was, he offered his conclusions:

“Er, can it be both? And not exactly fifty-fifty? But I swear it’s also an offer, to a quite a relevant extent for coming from me”, he confessed, looking at James from under furrowed brow, bracing for James’s reaction.

It took long seconds for James to answer, during which Jeremy was starting to understand how lobsters feel when someone stands in front of their tank checking on them studiously - even if, considering the amount of implications James’s answer was going to have, he was probably already hanging over the boiling water.

Then James finally spoke:

“Fine Jezza. It’s fine, I guess I’ll accept your half of an offer.”

It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic declaration but Jeremy felt something melting inside him all the same, like a swarm of butterflies set free in his stomach, leaving a void so deep to call for an urgent fill, and the first suitable thing that came to Jeremy’s mind was imperatively James. And James was probably reading his mind because he finally smiled at Jeremy, fondly, his eyes clear blue again.

"Oh, that’s... well, thank you James” _, I’ll be good at this James, I swear._

“No need to thank me. Just… please don’t make me regret this, ok?”, James added, quick and plain, like the side-effects in a drug commercial. And, like the side-effects, potentially lethal, Jeremy realised, before quickly dismissing the thought, not wanting it to spoil the mood. He nodded, “Scout's honour”, and James couldn’t help chuckling at the scene.

“So… any chance we can kiss now?”, Jeremy asked, shyly, “Don’t get mad at me… it’s just that… it felt good last time… and well, we’re here to give it a try, right?”

James rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, he just walked towards Jeremy and stopped right in front of him, looking straight in his eyes, awaiting.

Jeremy was taking James’s moves as a ‘oh hell no’, then as a ‘yes’, so right before bursting in the deepest happiness and crashing against James’s mouth, he tilted his head, cautious at James’s strange behaviour, and asked warily:

"Er, have you changed your mind? Because it's fine, really James, whatever-“

James placed his index finger on Jeremy’s lips to hush him, shook his head and grinned, an almost smug grin, blue eyes sparkling in happiness, amusement and probably even something else:

"I just thought you’d like to make the first move, for once”

“How you dare!”, Jeremy shouted utterly surprised, then melted against James and finally kissed him, and James kissed back and promptly cupped Jeremy's face to drag him in, in a carefully balanced choreography of sweetness, eagerness, and warmth, for Jeremy to think that James definitely knew what he was doing, refusing to panic at the implications of that consideration and enjoying the profits of his expertise.

James let go the grasp on Jeremy’s burning cheeks only to grab Jeremy's arms and place them on his own shoulders. Jeremy got the hint and moved one hand on James’s nape first, soon followed by the other, and that felt definitively better, and suddenly everything under his touch was James, in all his glory of finely wrinkled skin, tiny bumps of growing beard and soft, _oh so soft_ , hair.

In the rare moments they caught on their breath, Jeremy was thankful for the implicit agreement to not say a word, since he didn’t want a wrong one to unveil how much he was engaged in that activity – or to ruin it all.

Between a kiss and another, he let James lead him back on the sofa, adjusting their position a few times to find the most comfortable setup, that ended being with him leant against the corner pillow and James almost climbing over him, a knee deep in the seat cushion beside Jeremy’s leg, hanging to the backrest or to Jeremy’s neck alternatively. And kissing him. Passionately, tenderly, meticulously, with Jeremy almost struggling to keep the pace, astonished and overwhelmed by the extent of what James diminishingly labelled as ‘interest’.

 _This is good_ , Jeremy thought. Even better than his original goal of sucking out James’s pure happiness straight from the source: every good thing he had associated to James until that moment was now at his fingertips, _and this feels good, James is good, I’ve always known James was good._

In a corner of his mind Jeremy was still aware that the world was offering fast cars, enjoyable food and good booze, but he really didn’t care, and hoped that whatever they were doing would have lasted as long as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

After the early frantic kisses, Jeremy slipped into a dazed contentment, while James was still kissing him tirelessly, going from licking and sucking at Jeremy's lips to tracing the line of Jeremy's jaw in pecks, up until his ear and then down again, along his neck until Jeremy's shirt allowed it.

 _This is good,_ Jeremy kept thinking, so good to have let James spread out over him, so good to accept his new role basically limited to be a territory for James's explorations, a particularly gasping territory for the times his mouth wasn't directly involved in kissing James, and he found himself unexpectedly satisfied by the act of running his fingers along James's back, pausing sometimes to move James’s hair out of the way, gesture that James methodically returned with sweet smooches, to Jeremy's delight. He silently thanked James for being wise enough to avoid eye contact, inappropriate moves or risky comments _, James is definitely good at this, this is good_.

 _This is good_ , Jeremy thought one last time, while the excitement of their encounter was slowly fading, making space for a mellow relaxation for the accomplished goal, and he recovered his consciousness back to become aware that, as careful as their settling might have been, his lower back wouldn’t have forgiven soon the slouch he’d subsided into but also, more alarming, that there was something stretching his jeans – from the inside.

It felt a bit too much for his brand-new standards, and way too close to an erection, and that, together with the sudden realization that James could have been experiencing the same thing, made Jeremy’s enthusiasm come to a screeching halt, _because_ _that’s right the kind of things I’ve been trying to avoid, because this is James, this is homosexual and I know the homosexual way to deal with this and I don’t like it._

Despite the concern, he tried his best to maintain as much composure as possible in informing James about the inward crisis he was facing, well aware of being walking on thin ice:

"James, I know I've promised I've never talk about my penis again, but these things we're doing - which I'd like to keep doing - are causing something in my crotch."

James raised his head from the crook of Jeremy's neck he was dedicating himself to and looked at him from behind ruffled locks, an amused smiled on his face:

"Really? Is it some kind of zombie awakening drama?"

"Funny. Really funny, considering it's coming from a spaniel", Jeremy retorted, glancing at James's hair. But no, it wasn’t funny at all:

"James this is a problem!"

James smirked and kept going:

"Scared that snogging an old bloke has such an effect on-“

But Jeremy waved his hand to make him stop talking and seriously stated, pointing at his groin:

"I wasn't expecting this."

It took James's muffled giggle for Jeremy to realise the double meaning, and that James still hadn’t got the size of the problem, but at least he somehow understood he’d better climb down from Jeremy, so as for both of them to separate and sit properly apart, while Jeremy kept explaining:

"No, no, I really wasn't expecting this James, it... stop looking at me like that, I'm trying to be sincere! I know it's preposterous but... what... has happened in my pants – what is still happening...”

"Well I'm quite proud of such a result", James said in a hushed voice, while composing himself on the other side of the couch, his blushing unnoticed by Jeremy, who couldn't hold it anymore and just shouted back:

"But it's wrong!"

James rolled his eyes, "Told you, that's no right or wrong, don’t-“, his tone was indulgent but Jeremy was already too panicked to appreciate it:

"Cut your politically correct blabbering May, it feels wrong. To me. So it's important, according to your standards as well."

Jeremy blurted, harshy enough to make James froze. Looking at James's worried eyes Jeremy realised how rude he’s just been and _oh no, no, fuck, don’t ruin this, Jeremy, say something, say something right for once in your life -_ "Sorry. I am sorry. It's not your fault. It's been... bloody hell James, it's been brilliant, you've been brilliant, but this!”, he explained, pointing at his crotch, “I can't deal with this!”

"It's... physiological, I think”, James tried to suggest.

_‘It’s physiological’ my arse, it’s the first step to that kind of activities I don’t want to get involved in! Not with anybody else who has a penis, but bloody hell James why are you doing this to me? This is ridiculous James, please be helpful for once and explain me what the hell is happening to me, what you are doing to me to get me here,_

Jeremy thought, then he abruptly stood up and started striding in the middle of his own living room, histrionic as his usual despite the obvious bulge in his trousers, spouting in an unfiltered monologue coming straight from his gut:

"No, you're not going to talk me into this. I need to sort this out myself.

And it's not your fault, not at all, never. It's... me.

And I'm not regretting anything James! 

It's been brilliant, pleasant beyond my expectations - and that's the problem actually.

You’ve been – oh god James don’t make me say ‘perfect’, please.

But I need... I'm such an arse, I know, but I need to think about this.

And I’m willing to! I’m sure I’ll find a solution James, I want to find a solution!

But… again, I’m afraid it’s something I can’t discuss with you.

Not now at least, not before I’ve thought about it by myself.

It’s… It’s all I can say now James."

Jeremy finally stopped roaming around and looked at James, hoping to God for him to have gotten the right meaning out of the soliloquy just ended, or at least to have been moved enough by the miserable scene of Jeremy Clarkson for once lost for words – because of him.

And probably, underneath the puzzled look James got something right - provided that there was something right in what Jeremy tried to express - since he didn’t slapped Jeremy or any other violent reaction Jeremy reckoned would have been totally justifiable. And Jeremy silently thanked him for it, _oh James I’m so sorry, you should totally have kicked me in the nuts._

James nodded, then stood up and started walking towards the door, his gaze low, mumbling to himself more than to Jeremy:

“Er… I guess it’s… ok, so I’m going, right? I’m sorry if-“

"Don’t! Don’t be sorry for anything James. It’s just that… “, but he couldn’t end his sentences, he couldn’t just say ‘I don’t want your cock around mine’, _oh James, it’s so bloody difficult,_ “I’ll sort this out ok? You know you're the only one I’d get through this for, right?”, _oh God that was probably too much,_ “Trust me James if it wasn't for this unplanned twist I'd still be snogging you for as long as we'd get too hungry to go on", he said while walking along him up to the door, and James finally looked at him again. He nodded and perhaps he was persuaded enough, Jeremy thought, since he gave him an unexpected brief kiss before heading out, and Jeremy decided it was better to not focus on how fond that gesture was.

Once the front door was closed, Jeremy slumped on the sofa again, his hand across his face even if there wasn't anyone left to hide from, his neck too overextended upon the backrest for his cervical spine not to hurt later. Eventually, he took a breath and undid his trousers just enough to put a hand in his pants, cursing himself while stroking his shaft almost reluctantly, trying to think about everything else but James.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, the story is seen from James’s POV

As soon as James heard the door closing behind him, he placed a hand flat on his chest, to check if his heart was still beating or has buckled under the strain of the last half an hour spent at Jeremy's. _Yep, s_ _till beating, good._

It was beating, with an unexpected slow, steady pace that left James not as surprised as much as content, as he was sure it was an essential requirement to be able to drive back home safely, like nothing had happened - as he was going to do, pretending nothing had happened.

He ducked slightly to sit at the wheel of his car, but that common move triggered something in his ears, releasing a quick gurgle of air bubbles that broke the numbness he didn't realized he was dunked in, to sting his eardrum and leave him with the worst burst of sea-sickness he'd ever experienced. He managed to sit down and rested his head against the seat, keeping his eyes closed and avoiding any movement to resist from throwing up.

 _Need something to think about that it's not Jeremy. Now_.

 _Music. Music will do_ , he thought. He started playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in his head, trying to engage all his senses in realistically re-enacting the soothing scene of playing it on his piano, pretending he was looking at the score, hearing the notes inside his head and imagining the motion of his hands along the keyboard - just imagining it, not moving a single muscle yet, still on the verge of puking if his labyrinth hadn’t stopped betraying him.

It took him around ten minutes to get to the end of the sonata: he was sure he'd messed up a few bits, but it wasn't so important if he managed to recover his equilibrium. He tried and tested his conditions: _Jeremy_ , he whispered, and managed to keep calm, apart from a brief tightening of his grip on the steering wheel. He let out a long breath and felt alert and lucid enough to finally drive home, turning on the radio to get distracted by whatever was playing.

Once back home, he locked the door behind him and leaned against the wooden surface just for a split second before slowly sliding down along it, ending up curled at its bottom, his head on his knees, squishing his eyes so hard that the fuzzy spots of light and colours he was seeing matched the kaleidoscopic alternance of his own feelings, finally surfacing.

It surely wasn’t the right moment to setup any kind of analysis of the latest developments, but it was also too soon to be able to think about anything else: something inside him kept remarking that Jeremy had been doing his best, that Jeremy had kissed him and let him kiss back, but there were other voices, like a particularly unsatisfied part of the audience, telling him that he was wrong, that Jeremy didn't know what he'd get himself into and just didn't want him around anymore, that he’d taken what he was looking for and he was done with that. Or perhaps disappointed with that. Despite what he'd said. _Despite what we’ve done_.

He was stuck in an endless round of 'he wants me/he wants me not', going in crescendo up to the point his confusion has turned into a huffy disappointment:

_‘Unplanned twist’, bollocks, it was a bloody hard-on, he's dealt with them since he was a boy, how the hell he wouldn't expect it?_

Then, it struck him:

_He's got a hard-on on me. Oh god._

James didn't want to get himself get carried away with that thought, he knew it was a terrible idea - especially after what had happened, but it felt like his body had given up any restraints and also sodded off his own conscience, too worn out by what had just happened to try to resist; he let the arousal, sick and desperate arousal, flood him, from his head to the tip of his cock, hard and painfully bent in his pants.

He quickly moved to the bathroom, where he pulled down his jeans before sitting on the bowl, just enough to comfortably grab his old chap and started wanking, thinking of Jeremy, of Jeremy kissing him sweetly, of Jeremy so much into him to enjoy rubbing his cock just like he was doing, proficient and lustful, stroking himself hard and fast until he came moaning, with pleasure and regret.

James spent long minutes sat there, dirty and sweaty, and he couldn’t swear he hadn’t fallen asleep for a split second and woken up just in time to not fall from the bowl; his head felt heavier and the hints of a headache his orgasm had just temporally alleviated were now pounding his temples, so he slowly got undressed, making a ball with his clothes and throwing it in a corner, in the aim of forgetting what he’d done in them, and moved inside the shower stall.

What hurt most, though, wasn’t the headache itself, but rather how his brain was unmercifully repeating ‘I told you’, and the thought of it being right continuously echoing in his head; the noise made by the falling water wasn’t enough to overcome that voice inside, but at least tears blended easily with the thick stream of drops coming down from the top of his head.

It was almost two in the night: James got the information from the clock on the oven, while dragging himself to the fridge to get something cool enough to sooth his throat before going to bed. Despite the shower, he still felt like he'd been rolled over with a tank - _a tank named Jeremy_. He dismissed any further attempt to analyse his miserable condition and finally went to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

It wasn't the first time he'd heard it: he could offer at least three different realistic variations of the ‘Sorry James, I like you but’ theme, and the last of them had hit him hard enough to have made him opt for tucking away his interest for half of the pool and making do with women only. Jeremy hadn’t said it, at least not so clearly, _not yet_ , but James couldn’t help concluding, because of both pessimism and experience, that that was going to be the rough sense of Jeremy’s next statement, whatever it might have been - in spite of his professed newly-discovered homosexuality.

It was so hard to understand the extent of Jeremy’s evaluation on the effects of his own revelation, but considering how things had gone, it was probably an enthusiastic but shallow assessment - although sincere, James granted. He knew well how much Jeremy could have seemed loud, extroverted and straightforward, but that hasn’t anything to do with his deepest part, the one James found irresistibly intriguing, the one he’d sneaked some peeks of and decided – unfortunately for him – he bloody liked it.

So, when he'd confessed he was interested, James might have slightly understated the crush on Jeremy he had been nurturing for years; it had been his brain that has kept preventing him to make a move, providing him with the full range of negative consequences he could have risked facing, and all considered James was sure that self-denial was the best way to deal with that.

But as much as he had been trying his best to stress the chance Jeremy would never have been interested in him, nor even able to deal with a homosexual relationship – _think about the show, James,_ that clumsy, inappropriate, and unexpected first attempt Jeremy had made had left a crack in James’s self-persuasion.

Jeremy’s move had been so unexpected that his brain hadn’t stopped him on time, it took him a split second to realise it was a bad idea, and despite the initial shock he was indeed thankful that Jeremy had aborted his effort, but the damage was already made. Once he had analysed what had happened, in the calm of his own home with all the tea he’d needed, he decided that whatever kind of justification Jeremy would have presented, it wouldn’t have been compatible with their business first, and with James’s very reality also. James tried to be as much understanding as possible when he’d got sure Jeremy wasn’t taking the piss, but still determined in avoiding any chance of further involvement in his new rambling fixation, _because this is Jeremy and you’ll never know with him._

He’d hoped Jeremy was easily scared by the fact he was seriously thinking about it, not for a snog only, but it hadn’t worked as he thought; furthermore, he stupidly decided that Jeremy’s respect for his refusal and the care he’d put in avoiding any further reference were signs he was somehow caring about him, so the little crack weaselled its way and, when he’d been offered another chance, James took a risk and followed his gut – kissing Jeremy.

And if his brain was still highlighting how much of a bad idea that had been, James tried to appease its aversion for the turn thing had taken promising himself to keep as much in control as possible, still conceding Jeremy a chance. _And this is the result, congratulations May._

It had been a disaster - his brain wouldn’t stop reminding him, but thankfully his heart was the one keeping him alive, doing backflips and savouring the fact they'd actually kissed, and slumped on the sofa, and Jeremy thought about it before telling him it was also an offer – and Jeremy thinking about it, Jeremy kissing him and promising him to find a solution was the only thing James could hold onto to avoid admitting his complete failure.

Torn and confused, he was also worried for the incoming days, since the worst-case scenario he had foreseen was a complete carnage: alone, heartbroken, and unemployed.

He was thankful for all the commitments he had piled up for that Friday that, together with the time spent pottering inside his shed for the rest of the weekend, got him the kind of distraction from the last events he was in the need of, for the reasonable price of a bruised finger, a few scratches on his hands and wrists, and a broken disc on his grinder.

It was at around 10 on Sunday night that James got out of his shed, both physically and metaphorically, to get back in touch with the world outside. No text or calls from Jeremy, and in the whole range of readings that that might have had, James decided it was a good sign, or neutral at worst. He didn't bother to decide the exact reason the lack of news was due to, it was just no news good news: he reckoned he still had a workplace to go and that was a good thing in the end, and didn't want to spoil his mood thinking about having to see Jeremy again, after what had happened.

Monday came, and James got inside the office, warily, offering a vague “’Morning” while scanning the room, looking for Jeremy – in the aim to avoid him, actually. Hammond greeted him back first:

“Good morning May, what’s happened to your finger?”

“Oh, just a bruise, nothing serious”

“Spent the whole weekend fiddling around? Good for you mate, I’ve been dragged to the fair yesterday, girls were overjoyed but I do miss a good Sunday alone in the shed… Fancy a cuppa?”

“Oh yes, please”

Sat at his desk, he quickly got to the bottom of the cup and still hadn’t seen Jeremy around; he tried to glimpse at his desk as sneakily as possible twice, with poor results:

“If you’re looking for Jezza, he’s taken the day off”, Andy said, passing next to him.

“Oh. Ok, thanks”

He's already scheduled a day off on Tuesday, so their – potential - rendezvous was postponed to Wednesday at least, and probably even further, since he hoped Jeremy would have had the foresight to avoid any inappropriate exchange before filming. He didn’t want to call it a good thing, but nevertheless it worked in easing his mood for the day.

On Wednesday James got to the track, slightly late as his usual, slightly more nervous than usual, and it wasn’t about the show. He walked into the portacabin and greeted his colleagues, hoping for the best:

“’morning chaps”

Richard and Jeremy replied in perfect unison by chance: “Good morning James”, and the result was so weird that they looked at each other, and at James too, surprised and amused, and laughed at it. It worked like a bless to ease James’s tension for the few seconds before Andy popped in:

“’Morning James. So guys, here’s the script, let’s get to work”, giving each one of them a few papers and cutting off any chance for a talk with Jeremy. Which, to James’s opinion, was the best thing to do, at least until the day had ended.

Everything went smoothly, and that was all James was actually hoping for. He wasn’t expecting anything from Jeremy, so when, at the end of the show, as they were about to leave the hangar, James was surprised by how he came up beside him and called him:

“James"

"Mh?"

Jeremy quickly checked nobody was close before telling him, in a hushed voice:

"I'm thinking about it - just wanted you to know."

James nodded and smiled at Jeremy - an amenable, understanding smile, _Well, at least he’s trying_ \- and Jeremy smiled back. As Andy shouted out to all the people left in the hangar, "Ok, well done everybody, now pub!”, Jeremy asked him: “You’re coming, right?”

“Sure”, James replied; Jeremy’s statement was something, in the end, and he decided to stop racking his brains and just wait for Jeremy’s next move, giving him a few days more to think about it. Almost satisfied, he joined the rest of crew and went to the pub.


	12. Chapter 12

Another week passed, and James thought he’d spotted some tentative glances, but Jeremy never said anything clearly, clearly enough for James to be sure he wasn’t just projecting; no invitations for a smoke together, or the pub, or anything, no texts or calls, so James feared he’d probably got everything wrong, and Jeremy had been thinking about God knows what. _It shouldn’t be that hard. It’s not a good sign, Jeremy should reckon it as well._

On Wednesday night, right after the end of the show, James caught Jeremy chatting with two women from the audience: he was acting extremely cheerfully with them, and James overheard a couple of cheeky jokes, something a bit unusual even for a ladies’ man like Jeremy.

 _That is it. Those are meant to speak to me. He’s a coward and I’m not going to get anything else, not apologies nor an explanation. This is all I’ll have._ James concluded, before being approached by Richard, who probably had noticed his embittered pout:

“What’s going on May?”

“Just… checking if we’re going to end up on the news, if the oaf doesn’t behave himself”, James explained, nodding towards Jeremy still entertaining his small female audience.

Richard followed a few seconds of their interaction: “Come on, it’s not worse than his usual – and those aren’t schoolgirls either. Don’t be too negative. Joining us to the pub?”

James answered ‘yes’ on habit; he wasn’t in the best mood for going out, but at the same time he didn’t want to raise Hammond’s curiosity nor concern, so he stuck with his reply.

“Great, mate! Stop worrying, see you there!”, Richard said while walking away, leaving James in the same spot he’d found him.

James didn’t stop worrying, at least not for the show, neither he took his eyes off Jeremy. He saw him elegantly excusing himself, and their eyes met for a split second before James turned around and walked away. It was easier to pretend it didn’t happen.

Both the pub that night and the following days passed without any significative news from Jeremy, but James wasn’t relying on old saying anymore: no news was just no news, _apparently there’s nothing to say, I should have understood it._

The following week they were filming in the North. By that time, James had got used to not thinking about what had happened between Jeremy and him, ostensibly for the sake of the show, but also for his own. It was easier, he was well trained at it all, ignoring his feelings for Jeremy first and accepting rejections as well, even if unspoken; he’d just never thought the two things would have happened to occur together.

James tried and convinced himself that probably Jeremy was assuming that everything between them was going fine like that, but again, that was for the best: filming went smoothly, and they had managed to maintain an acceptable level of social interaction, until the last night they had to spend all together at the hotel.

After a couple of after-dinner drinks James decided it was a good time to go to bed, so he stood up from the not so comfortable armchair and told goodnight to everyone; at that move, Jeremy started resurfacing from the couch he’d slouched into, slurring to none in particular yet looking at James, “It’s a good idea, I’d better go to bed as well, goodnight chaps”.

It seemed James was waiting for him to be able to walk again, but the truth was James just froze in the realization of what Jeremy was doing; it wasn’t even the chance that someone could have suspected something from their synchronous parting, what he feared was the unavoidability of it – what could he have done, run away? Sit back? - and the consequences. _Sod off him and his perfect timing, this is going to end miserably._

They didn’t talk in the lift, nor while walking the corridor where both their rooms were. Jeremy stopped right on the door of his room, and James didn’t have the foresight or the heart to keep walking, lingering there at least to tell him goodnight. But the glance they shared wasn’t suggesting pleasantries:

“Can I ask you… a thing?”

James feared the kind of question he was going to be asked, especially since Jeremy has already had a few drinks, but nodded in agreement anyway. And so Jeremy proposed:

"It's our last night here, and tomorrow's filming will be all about Richard, so… I was wondering if you'd fancy getting completely pissed with me, tonight”

James wasn't expecting the invitation: since they'd parted with Jeremy's assertion of 'being thinking about it' none of them had made any move, and if James must have been honest, he stepped out of Jeremy's surroundings with random excuses at least twice since they were filming there, to avoid any awkward talk with him alone; he had already switched back to his old reserved behaviour, reckoning it would work perfectly to keep the show going on, and convinced himself there was nothing left to say in the end: whatever they’d got themselves into was basically a terrible choice, so the sooner it would have all faded away, the better for them all.

He wondered if he was overreacting and Jeremy just wanted to get drunk like the old times, and the thought of never be able to get involved into their drunk banter again, like nothing ever happened, left a bad taste in his mouth. Whatever Jeremy’s reasons were, it still didn’t sound a good idea to James:

"Mh. Better not Jezza.”

Jeremy’s head dropped, like he’d physically felt the hit of James’s rejection;

"James”,

he muttered, then raised his head before going on,

“I’ve told you I've been thinking about it and I did. But since I haven't come to any sensible solution yet, I might need your help.”

James opened his mouth and almost started to argue that there was no much to think: even if Jeremy sounded quite sincere, he felt like there was nothing he could help him with, he couldn't grow ladyparts just to please Jeremy's taste. But he decided to go soft:

"Listen, it's… this is not the right place nor the right time, and if you're still thinking about it… I don’t think it’s what you want in the end, don’t want to force you into that”

Jeremy shook his head at James’s words:

"James, please, I may need a brush-up on why I'm spending my spare time contemplating the chance to deal with your old chap. It's _that_ I still have problems with, not you. And I'm dying to kiss you again.”

James flushed at the thought of Jeremy _contemplating_ , but managed to keep as firm on his point as he wanted to, seeing anything but danger in Jeremy's proposal. Hearing no answer, Jeremy went on:

“Come on James, don't overthink it as usual, we'll end up wanking alone in our own rooms all the same, at least we'll have a bit of fun before...”

James couldn't see the fun part, rather he felt attacked enough to reply angrily:

"Is it what you want from me then? Some cheap entertainment to skip the foreplay and come faster while fantasising about shagging Kristin Scott Thomas?”

Jeremy looked back at him and James realised how harsh he’d sounded, seeing the wildfire in Jeremy's eyes.

"You're pretty dense for being so bloody intelligent May. Never mind, have a goodnight", Jeremy concluded, and shut his door right in front of James's face. James stood there a couple of seconds, baffled but stiffened with anger, before yelling “Fuck off Clarkson!” to the same door, then went to his room, cursing himself under his breath.


	13. Chapter 13

James managed to sleep somehow, but despite the chance to sleep longer since he wasn’t scheduled for filming that day, he woke up early enough to have breakfast with the rest of the crew. While going back to his room together with Richard to pack their bags, they crossed Jeremy in the hallway and James hoped he didn’t recall anything from the night before. Given Jeremy’s conditions, it could have been possible. Richard tested him first:

“Good morning Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s answer was an almost unintelligible rumble, given without raising his head or stopping dragging himself to the lift. Richard tilted his head in a nod of ironic approval:

“It looks worse than usual. How much did the orangutan chug?”

"Ask his minibar, I went straight to bed”, James replied; Richard gave him a wary look, then shook his head and just stated:

"Andy is going to roar when he’ll see the bill.”

Andy roared indeed, or better, growled: a low, resigned and almost painful growl, wisely expressed to Jeremy alone taking him apart from the crew just after he had had breakfast; they passed next to James while heading outside, and he heard the first words of Andy’s speech, begging Jeremy to ‘stop behaving like a complete bellend and drink less’. Having considered the beginning of Andy’s sermon and how long it took for them to reappear, when James spotted Jeremy's reflection in the glass wall of the hall, smoking alone in a corner of the garden, he couldn't help feeling guilty for the whole incident.

James thought nicotine would do good, especially as a pretext to try and have a word with Jeremy, not yet sure if it would have been an apology, a word of comfort or a joke to ease Jeremy’s mood. He got outside and walked towards him, a still unlit fag between his lips, patting his pockets in the search for the lighter. Jeremy must have seen him coming, since he took his out and flicked it for James, who leant in and finally managed to take the yearned drag. _Good sign,_ so he tried to start a talk as casually as possible, but he didn’t succeed:

"So… I was wondering if-“

"Oh hell why is everybody suddenly willing to give me a lecture on something? Have some mercy of this wreckage of a man, would you?”, Jeremy burst and cut him off, and James avoided saying anything in return: he just stood there, consuming his cigarette faster than Jeremy, who kept staring blankly at a random patch of grass, among the drags. Finally, Jeremy spoke again:

"Ok, right, so: 'I've been a twat, I shouldn't drink that much, I'm sorry, blah blah blah', here's the whole package of excuses, choose the one you prefer, I guess it’s what you’re waiting for – ‘I don't want to talk about it, my head's still numb’ and so on, whatever you want, help yourself."

James was aware it wasn’t the right time and place to discuss anything, he just hoped Jeremy would somehow have had the decency of admitting there was something to discuss, somewhere else, soon and possibly soberly; he wasn’t expecting an apology – it was Jeremy, he reckoned – but at least the acknowledgement of his contributory negligence, or something similar, something after which James could have just said ‘I’m sorry too, let’s try again, if you want’. Therefore, James's nerves gave up at the bunch of throwaway platitudes Jeremy dumped on him and he flipped out, unable to contain the outrage he hadn’t vented the night before:

"Oh sod off Jeremy, know what? You're even worse now that you're sober, at least last night you could blame the alcohol for being a twat and taking the piss. I'm not going to stand your crap a minute longer"

“Don't need to, I'll shut the fuck up from now on. But. I wasn't taking the piss last night, and if you weren't such a pillock you could have had your chance to see how serious I am James."

"Sure, so bloody serious that you can't deal with me unless you're pissed!", James retorted. 

Jeremy sarcastically nodded before answering:

"That. Exactly that. In vino veritas, May. And, by the way, it's not Kristin Scott Thomas I think about when I’m wanking, drunk or not",

but James was too taken with rage to understand the inferences of Jeremy’s answer, and just kept ranting at him:

"Please stop talking, know what? It's ok, it doesn't matter, it was a tentative and it has gone wrong, no problem. Let's cut it out and try to get along for the sake of the show.”

Jeremy checked no one was around, lowering his tone of voice for good measure, and hissed:

"Bloody hell James, how can you be so stubborn? You've practically kissed me down to bed and I'm starving for you to do it again, I'm trying to come to terms with the fact you may want to go further than just kissing, and I've fucked one of my credit cards trying to access a gay porn site to learn basic skills - do you really want to cut it out? Because I may want you more that you assume now.”

It felt like a shock: James turned pale at Jeremy's words, on the verge of blacking out for the sudden declaration. He tried to answer but no sounds came out of his moving lips; he tried to swallow but his throat was so dry it just hurt all the way down to his stomach, and the way Jeremy was looking at him, while he felt unable to move a single muscle in response, felt like a knife stabbed in his chest.

That wasn’t Jeremy telling him ‘I like you but’, that was completely different from whatever James was expecting and still – to his perception – wrong all the same. Jeremy had been thinking about it, and managed to make a mess of it all: _What kind of disaster are you setting up Jeremy_ , James asked himself, _what the hell do you want me to do now? How can you be so utterly incompetent at this just because I’m a bloke? How can you say something like that and assume you could get away with it?_

It was too much, it was wrong, it wasn’t something he could have dealt with in the garden of a random hotel in the North, and James’s voice came out broken:

"I... I still can't understand you Jeremy, I'm sorry. I guess we're after different things”

“You’re wrong”, Jeremy retorted, not missing a beat, "I guess we are after each other. But I know I'm making it all way more complicate. It’s not that I don’t trust you around my chap James, it… it’s different, but I’m going to get over it, I promise you. That’s why I’ve invited you last night, ‘cause I may need your help, I may need some more time James: could you just wait for me a bit longer?”

 _What for?_ , James practically shouted within himself, _what for? Do you even realise what you’ve just told me? No you don’t, you daft, it’s ages I’m waiting for you, it’s ages I wanted you, it’s you that has gotten this all wrong. It’s not me you want, it’s the conveniently condescending figure of me you’ve set up in your head._

But James’s good sense and discretion prevented him for saying it all loud, and he managed to reformulate his conclusions in a more polite form, that nevertheless hurt him all the same while putting it into words:

"I don't want you to brainwash yourself into this, Jeremy. And I’m not sure I’m willing to wait longer - especially since I don’t know what for, if you’ll ever be able to… well, you know what.”

Their dialogue was interrupted by Andy, who walked towards them and asked:

“Excuse me chaps, since you’re both still here, mind if we try and retake the scene of the two of you messing up Hammond’s car?”

They answered at the same time, “Sure”, “No problem”, without looking at each other; Andy nodded in approval, then looked back at Jeremy and stated:

“You’re going to need more make-up than usual.”

They haven’t exchanged any further word, apart from their lines and the minimum social interaction they needed to film the scene; they managed to get to the end of it professionally, and also quite brilliantly according to Andy’s opinion.

Once back home at the end of the day, James left all his luggage in the hallway, locked up the door and went straight to his fridge. He grabbed a beer, opened it and took a long gulp; finally, he let himself go, slouching on the armchair with his eyes closed, exhausted and confused.

He still couldn’t decide if he’d missed a chance or dodged a bullet in turning down Jeremy’s invitation; probably the latter, considering it all, but yet he still felt somehow regretful for how it had ended. Jeremy was trying, yes, so James should have been happy and proud of him, of what Jeremy had said he's gone through, James should have been supportive of him - and that was probably the whole point: he couldn’t be supportive, because Jeremy had jumped aboard his gay crusade and revved it like a turbocharged Lamborghini he didn’t have to pay the petrol for, and James felt such a skyrocketing attitude was incompatible with his standards, and probably wrong under any reasonable point of view.

They had parted without concluding anything, and James couldn’t recall what his last words were before Andy came, but he feared he hadn’t left much to discuss. And in the end James didn’t know if he really wanted to discuss it any further. _I told you._


	14. Chapter 14

It took another week for the season to end, and the celebratory crazy, boozy party night would have found all of them six months older and more tired than usual, so it got wisely turned into a slightly more sober night all together at the pub.

James was nursing his pint, paying attention to the ongoing argument between Andy and Kiff, when he overheard a few words coming from Jeremy, who was sitting at the other end of the table, far from him as he used to do lately, chatting with Richard.

“…another chance…”

He managed to catch just some broken words, due to his initial inattention and the background noises of the pub, but he feared he got the sense of Jeremy’s talk tremendously right given the look Richard reserved him when he instinctively turned towards the two of them.

“…incompetent…”

Jeremy’s gaze, on the other hand, was lost inside his beer while talking:

“…trying my best, but made a mess as usual.”

James reasonably evaluated the chance he might have got a word, or worse the whole sense of it, wrong, but, while a couple of right-placed nods allowed him to successfully pretend he was supporting Andy's explanations, in his mind he kept playing an advanced game of Scrabble where instead of single letters, he had a handful of words to put together to make a sensible statement, and James wasn’t sure if the aim of the game was to keep ending up with the same implication of the few words he had heard, in whatever way he arranged them - but in that case he was surely winning.

_Jeremy is trying and you're being a twat, well done May._

_So what?_ , he retorted to his own conscience, _he’s already been trying for a while, with questionable results, and I’ve told him we could call it all off, for the best._ They’ve never talk about it again after that last unfortunate time, ostensibly for the sake of the show: James was already considering it a closed subject and Jeremy had never made any other attempt.

_The show is paused, and Jeremy is still trying_ , his conscience repeated, and James didn’t know what to reply this time. He guzzled down the beer that was left in the glass hoping to drown and swallow down whatever kind of feeling was raising up from his stomach, but it didn’t work.

_Jeremy is trying,_ and James felt that the strenuous effort he’d put into ignoring whatever had happened between Jeremy and him was fading away. _Jeremy is trying, just like he’d promised to. And you’re being a twat._

So, should he just let Jeremy keep running his deranged challenge to prove he's a better ‘homosexualist’ than the rest of the world, and be left to deal with Jeremy's scraps - and probably the guilt as well, once he’d metaphorically crashed?

Or be brave, for once, and put his hands on Jeremy's steering wheel to try and reroute him on the right way, or at least somewhere where James can try to set the pace and drive along at a reasonable speed? _Dreadful task, try to slow down Jeremy_.

He was silently sulking, and probably visibly lost in his thought, when he got startled by Hammond placing a fresh pint in front of him:

"Planet Earth calls Captain Slow", he said, “Is everything ok May?”

"Yeah… I was overwhelmed by the prospective of not having you all around for a while...”, James tried to justify his absent-mindedness, but Richard raised an eyebrow at him:

“Oh, I’m sure you’re going to miss us”, then got back to his seat.

At the end of the night they called for a bunch of cabs to come and pick up the whole crew, since nobody seemed fit enough to drive. After a few cars had come and gone, the four of them were the last left on the sidewalk: as the umpteenth cab stopped in front of him, Jeremy took a step back and let Hammond and Wilman seat in, “I’ll take next one, we’re both going to the other side of the city”, he explained pointing at James, who extinguished his fag on the tarmac and came closer to Jeremy, trying to understand what he was up to.

Just before closing the door, Richard looked warily at Jeremy first, then at James too:

“Okay… just… please take care, the both of you, ok? Good night chaps, see you”, then the cab got soon lost in the distance.

“Have you told him anything I should know?”, James couldn’t help asking.

“No, why do you ask? Have you?”

“No. But it feels like he thinks we’re up to something.”

Jeremy looked at him worriedly, a guilty pout already forming on his face, and asked:

“Do you think… he suspects… anything?”

James raised an eyebrow at Jeremy, and that was all he needed to begin confessing:

“I… I might have vented a bit, before. But I haven’t made your name or anything, I’ve also used the wrong pronoun… for your discretion, I mean – not because I’d wanted you to be a woman, I mean… nor for shame, it’s just that…”

James mercifully interrupted Jeremy’s blabbering before he could make it all worse:

“Thanks for the kind thought”, _even if I doubt it has worked as you assume,_ then raised his gaze to the incoming cab.

While the car stopped in front of them, Jeremy offered:

“So… d’you fancy… another drink, at mine?”

James didn't answer him: _this is Jeremy trying,_ and he didn't want to say no, mostly because of what he’d read in the few words he'd heard before, but at the same time he didn't want to carry the burden of having deliberately accepted.

There were good odds that the alleged “drink” would have turned to crap as soon as they’d started any kind of conversation about, well, them, also considering they both were tired and slightly pissed – and they’d already managed to argue while sober, in the past. Still, he didn't have the heart to decline Jeremy's offer - _and a chance to have him again_ , _please fucking admit it May._

_Whatever_ , and he got on the cab.


	15. Chapter 15

Nobody shared a word during the whole trip, thankfully not even the driver, who had been given Jeremy’s address. Once there, James deliberately got off the cab first, leaving Jeremy onboard to pay for the ride, for the urge to breath something clean from Jeremy's scent that according to his sense of smell was pervading the interiors of the car. He was also the first to walk down the drive up to the entrance of the building and stood there, still unsure of the appropriateness of stepping inside Jeremy's flat while mildly intoxicated.

It was a wary look the one Jeremy gave him while fumbling with the key in the lock. They still didn't say a word or look at each other all the way up to Jeremy's door, despite Jeremy had suspiciously coughed a couple of times and James felt an almost unbearable heat in the lift - _you daft, stupid pillock, you well know you can’t blame the air conditioning._

Jeremy opened the door of his flat and walked inside. James walked after him, ignoring the cold shivers warning him of what a couple of steps could have implied soon after. Once he had closed the door, Jeremy turned back to look straight at James, who kept standing motionless in the hallway, and with a quick move pinned him against the wall, in what felt to James the dearest, most wanted act of harassment he could have ever thought of.

He didn't have the time to realise what was happening, didn't need to, since Jeremy kissing him, desperate and hungry, was all James was hoping for, despite how hard he'd tried to dismiss the thought for the sake of a quiet life. And James kissed back, eagerly, grabbing Jeremy’s shirt to keep him close while Jeremy’s hands were worming their way between his back and the wall, up to his neck and behind his nape; James was lacking oxygen and losing his balance, but it didn’t matter in the end, because at that moment he could have survived on Jeremy’s lust only.

“James…”, Jeremy whispered, softly and aching, and at the idea of his own name being the first word Jeremy managed to articulate, James went definitely weak-kneed and sighed with pleasure.

At that sound, Jeremy broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to focus and check on on James, worriedly asking: 

“James, is this ok?”

“Yes… god Jeremy please don’t stop”, and James’s last words came out like a beg. _This is ok, this is more than ok, you’re probably going to make a mess out of it once again soon, make a mess out of me once again, but please don’t stop, because I fucking need this and I don’t care about anything else now,_ was the extended version of the quick assessment James miraculously performed, undeterred by the apprehension with which Jeremy was staring at him, expectant, caring.

Despite the heat of the moment, James noticed how hard Jeremy swallowed before nodding in agreement, before closing the gap between them, perfectly matching James’s lips; Jeremy tried his tongue against them again, more gently this time, and James was more than ready to indulge.

He resigned himself to whatever ruinous ending that was going to have – he probably already had when he’d got onto the cab, inwardly, but at this point he could have blatantly admitted, if asked, that yes, he was shamelessly following his feral instinct, already aware of the amount of time he was going to need to lick his wounds once everything would have ended. _But it’s all I want now._

So he was pleasantly surprised when he felt the different kind of care Jeremy was treating him with, like he was handling a precious object, doing his best to not break the kiss while dragging him to the living room and down to the sofa, carefully yet never letting go his grasp on him.

Once there, struggling to find a comfortable position on the sofa, James wriggled out of Jeremy’s grip only to shift over him, ending up in the same arrangement of their previous encounter, with Jeremy propped against the corner of the couch. This time, though, Jeremy was particularly vocal, among the moans and the gasps:

"James... James please... James please do something because my cock is going to explode… and it will be your fault and you'll have to explain it to the journalists... please just do something, you have my trust, I swear it… just do it…”

James knew what to do, oh if he knew, but also knew Jeremy wouldn't probably have approved it despite his claims, hence he went for a sugar-coated sample of all the plans he'd made in his mind for the two of them in the last few years; so let good old frottage do, no direct contact so not to scare Jeremy, _oh I hate having to be the lucid one here_ \- even if he was well aware it was for the best.

And Jeremy begging for him was quite a reward, so James deliberately played dumb and kept kissing him only to hear his whines a bit longer:

“James, you… oh come on… please… Jaaames…”

Meanwhile, he managed to shift a leg between Jeremy's, trying to not being too intimidating, then, after having sneakily adjusted his cock inside his pants, he carefully started to grind against Jeremy's crotch, trying to maintain his equilibrium while searching for the best angle to get the most friction for the both of them. And it worked.

Despite Jeremy wasn’t actively collaborating, he didn’t back down nor complain, and the kind of moral support he was offering wasn’t negligible and comforted James – when he didn’t make him choke a laugh:

"Jaaames... this is spectacularly gay... please keep going... oh God… oh James…”

Not sure if kissing again while their cocks were practically rubbing against each other, with just some fabric between them, would have been too much even for the gay-enthusiastic version of Jeremy that was under him, James restrained from leaning down, also because the show from up there was quite good: Jeremy was all stretched, his hands clenched to the cushions - _you should grab my arse, you oaf, but I guess it would be too gay for you right?_ , he thought and smiled while looking at him. It probably wasn’t the definition of beauty itself but still, having Jeremy right in front of him, right under him, all dishevelled like that, was a sight James had dreamt about for a long time, and if he’d had to be honest, he couldn’t help hoping for those two buttons on Jeremy’s shirt to give up and come off.

Jeremy’s engagement soon grew up beyond James’s expectations, to the point they managed to find a pace, marked by Jeremy’s enthusiastic comments, 

"James... oh please James... oh God...”,

while James was too busy to talk, apart from the “Yes Jeremy” softly whispered with the little breath left from the ongoing action, absorbed in recording every single bit of whatever was going on between them, that felt so intimate and hot even if their cocks were technically rubbing against each one’s own briefs.

Eventually, Jeremy threw his head back and thrusted his pelvis one last time, letting out a deep, long groan of pleasure and surrender. And that groan did something to James's gut that made him came just after a couple more strokes of his clothed cock against Jeremy's groin, blissing out in sweet delight and deep satisfaction.

Despite the ecstatic emphasis of the moment, James had the presence of mind to not collapse right over Jeremy but just beside him, even if one of Jeremy’s arms remained trapped under his exhausted body. It took a couple of minutes for the both of them to recover, and despite he was still panting, Jeremy was the first one to talk again:

"You... James, you've been brilliant... you always are...”

Eyes still closed, James smiled shyly, his blush undetectable under the overall flushing:

"You’ve been… brilliant, too”, and it was already too much thinking for James, it was too risky to keep talking and he feared that a single wrong word could have made everything crumble away.

"I'm not... I'm a hypocrite liar... you're brilliant, that's different”

 _You’re an obstinate bloody knob, but I quite like you,_ he registered, but that wasn’t a thing to say, so James just kept silent, enjoying the moment. It lasted only a few more seconds, since James started to realise how uncomfortably he was wedged between Jeremy and the cushions. As he tried to move from there, Jeremy muttered:

"No, stay, come closer... ",

trying to bend his arm despite James’s weight still on it. Surprised by Jeremy’s words, James instinctively turned to face him, only to discover the same surprise in Jeremy’s eyes, and it was easy to assume he was probably slightly panicking and already regretting what he'd just said.

 _Here we are, with all the homosexualism rubbish he's going to blabber, let’s cut it off,_ "You probably won't like having me around like this, we're both in the need of a shower and... well, I'd better go home in the end, just let me recover a bit", he offered, while trying to get back on his feet.

As he’d straightened up, Jeremy called his name, and it sounded like a plead:

"James...”

"No, Jeremy, listen, it's fine, and yes, it's been brilliant, but I guess we both don't want to talk about it right now, right?”

Jeremy scrubbed his hands over his face, then answered:

"Oh hell James, why are you always right? It's just that... it’s…”, but he wasn’t able to conclude, and James thought it was a good thing indeed:

"No problem, we'll... we'll discuss it later on, ok? I'm going now, I need a shower and some good sleep...”

"D'you want to... I mean, in the guest room...”

"No, thanks, I'm going home.”

“…like that?”, Jeremy asked, nodding at the stains on his crotch.

“Well, it’s dark outside… I’ll cover it with the shirt somehow – can I just use the lavatory first?”

“You know the way.”

He left Jeremy still sprawled on the sofa, allegedly as worn-out and fuddled as him, but apparently not as disturbed as James feared he could have been. He cleaned himself enough to be able to walk, and when he got back to the living room he found Jeremy standing in front of the liquor cabinet, a half full glass already in his hand:

“Sorry, I really needed it. As a reward. Shall I pour you some?”

“No thanks, I’ve already had enough at the pub, I’m going home”, James answered, “So… good night Jeremy”

Jeremy put down his glass and turned to James, a weary look in his eyes, for which James feared he was on the verge of rejecting it all, also considering the alcohol; instead, Jeremy got closer and leant in, and James raised his head just enough for their lips to match, in something that was still too passionate and long to be considered just a goodnight kiss, yet not as lustful and deep as the ones they’d shared before. James stood in his place, still, only tilting his head to follow Jeremy’s moves, not sure about what to do, for better or for worse, until Jeremy broke the kiss:

“Good night James. Thanks for having accepted my invitation.”

James smiled and hinted at a nod, then walked towards the door, looking back at Jeremy just for one last quick wave of a hand before going out. He closed the door behind him, and in his dazzled amusement he thought he could just walk the couple of miles back to his home; the night was warm, and he was floating in mid-air in bliss, the aroma of the whiskey Jeremy was drinking still lingering in his nose.

The night wasn’t that warm after a further evaluation, and James’s euphory soon faded in a more than understandable fatigue; luckily, that was London, so he waved a hand at the first cab he spotted, suddenly so exhausted he couldn’t recall how he’d gotten inside his bed the morning after.  
  



	16. Chapter 16

_It was something._

It was a lot, coming from Jeremy, and James still couldn’t believe it when he woke up the morning after. The only evidence he was left with was a backache: no texts or missed calls, no signs for good or for bad, nothing to help James decipher the outcome of their encounter.

He kept lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, rethinking about what had happened the night before, unable to stop checking his mobile every now and the for good measure; despite the lack of a feedback, James couldn’t help acknowledging Jeremy’s behaviour had been objectively different, _so positively different,_ enough for James to hope something had actually changed in Jeremy’s mind, without having to blame the alcohol only.

James closed his eyes and replayed scenes from the night before, professedly resolved in trying to analyse them and understand the extent of Jeremy’s conscious involvement but had to stop soon as he felt his cock waking up: _s_ _low down May, you’ve already wasted enough energies in this_ , yet the way they’d kissed before parting was still vivid in James’s mind, and he instinctively licked his lips, hoping to find Jeremy’s flavour again. Disappointed by the lack of it and slightly embarrassed of his own sentimentalism, he finally got up.

He tried to get some distraction in reading the news but couldn’t find his glasses; he recalled he’d brought them to the pub, since those are dark places and the menus are written in small print, putting them back in his shirt pocket right after use. But if he hadn’t dreamt it all – _no, my lower back proves it wasn’t a dream_ – he must have admitted it had been quite a lively night after they’d came out of the pub, and probably his glasses weren’t as much motivated as him at keeping their place while scrambling right above Jeremy.

_Okay._

Popping up at Jeremy’s wasn’t polite nor advisable, despite he actually had a sort of reason to, so he chose to just ring him up. Jeremy was quick to answer:

“James?”

"Hello Jeremy, sorry to bother you... I may have left my glasses at your place last night, can you take a look around?”

"Er, I'm outside London now, I'll be back tomorrow, in the evening… but if you want to look for them yourself, I'll tell the maid you'll drop by, she usually gets there at around 11...”

"Oh no, no need to, I can survive until tomorrow evening even without them, I’ll wait” – _oh hell I shouldn’t have put it like that,_ James quickly realized. Too late, considering Jeremy’s answer:

"As you prefer. And, since you’re calling in, what about a pint together, _after you’ve gotten your glasses back_?”

James tensed up at the way Jeremy stressed his last words, then took a step back and realized Jeremy’s invite.

 _Oh._ "Okay, sure, so… see you tomorrow, right?”

"I'll ring you once I'm home”

"Perfect. See you Jezza”

“Looking forward to seeing you, James”, Jeremy said before hanging up.

 _Okay, Jeremy is trying._ Seriously trying, according to James’s still cautious expectations. Still trying, even after what had happened the night before, that, no matter how impromptu it might have been, was still well beyond contemplating, especially considering Jeremy’s standards. And this last point was highlighted by the way his heart increased its pace.

Later in the day, James’s glasses popped out of the pocket of his shirt, in overall still fair conditions, while he was hanging it to dry, since he had accidentally rolled them inside the wrap of dirty clothes he pushed into the washing machine in the middle of the night.

He wondered, for a split second or probably even less, if he should have texted Jeremy; he dismissed the chance, because if he would have told him about the glasses, he was going to need a different excuse to see him again – _because yes, I know, it’s a bloody excuse_ , James admitted to himself.

He had to force himself to stop overanalyzing it all beyond a reasonable level, unable to keep unbiased, yet he was quite sure it wouldn’t have been about the pints only – he didn’t want it to be about the pints only, actually – but he feared Jeremy would have been interested just in a good snogging, or even something better, not caring about James’s urge to discuss whatever was happening between them, as he felt it had already gone way too much out of hand. And he pitied himself, realizing how he’d gone from nurturing a safe level of indifference towards his feelings for Jeremy, to potentially having to cool down him and his hype.

As much as he’d longed for it, he was still worried about the appropriateness of it all. Because the premises until that point had been messy, to say the least. Because James’s imagination was performing much better in foreseeing the chances to screw it all up than in providing good reasons to go on. Because of the show. Because, even if James reckoned it was an absolutely premature thing to consider, of the rest of the world. Too many variables and nothing worth losing time in planning, as it was Jeremy he was dealing with – God only knew what he could have come out with.

Yet, the scenario where Jeremy would have retracted his decisions or repudiated his moves was something James didn’t feel the need to prepare for as much.

The day after Jeremy didn’t call, texting instead:

‘Back home, feel free to get here whenever suits you best’

 _Standard politeness, mh._ He didn’t know where to file that information, if together with the bad omens he’d listed – like Jeremy being unable to deal with him unless drunk - or in the ‘good signs’ pile, which however seemed too full to have been stacked with the necessary rationality.

James drove up to Jeremy’s and, after having rang the bell, he couldn’t help rethinking about what had happened the last time he’d walked into Jeremy’s flat. This time though Jeremy was behaving as the perfect host he was:

“Welcome James, come inside, I’ve looked for you glasses but I haven’t found them, anyway, make yourself at home and check yourself if you want”

“Oh, well, no need to, thanks, I've found them yesterday in fact, they were in the washing machine”, James explained, walking inside.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, interested:

“Oh, yes, obviously. So you’re here for… the booze, I guess - and for a talk, too, right?”

 _Well at least he seems aware there’s something to talk about,_ James thought before answering:

“Er... I'm sure you'll understand the need for it... “

“If only you'll understand I'm terrible at this, you well know I am”, Jeremy said.

James hinted a smile in response, still keeping on the lookout, as hearing Jeremy demeaning his own capabilities was quite an unusual and alarming circumstance; he didn’t want to play along though, so he was quick to point out:

"Well yes, but you've being quite... surprising lately, so who knows"

Jeremy didn’t reply and turned around to lead the way to the living room.

“So, since your glasses are safely home, let’s move to drinking, right? And, unless you want to go to the pub, I have a couple of nice bottles here, if you fancy…”

Still on the defensive and surprised by the unusual level of courtesy, while scanning Jeremy for any sign of jest or mockery, James’s gaze fell on the crisp, white shirt he was wearing, and a suspicion popped up in his head, too sudden to be properly filtered before being spoken out loud:

“Jeremy this isn't some sort of date, right?”

Jeremy turned around, looking almost offended:

“James. What sort of peasant do you think I am to suppose I'd set up a date like this?”,

he answered,

"You could have told me you wanted a proper date, instead of setting up poor excuses..."

Jeremy’s words stung James right where it hurt, and he wasn’t relaxed enough to think of a good reply or hold it back:

"It wasn't an excuse! I've lost them, they were in the washing machine!”, he retorted, feeling a rush of blood up his neck.

"Ok, I believe you", Jeremy answered, then, after a long pause, "No, I don’t. And my offer for an actual date still stands. Anyway, I’m getting something to drink, get comfortable.”

As Jeremy moved to the kitchen, James sat on the armchair, far from being comfortable, bracing himself for whatever development that was going to have.

_Ok, May, keep calm. Be patient, be kind. It’s Jeremy._


	17. Chapter 17

Jeremy came back from the kitchen with two already open bottles of beer; he passed one to James and drank from the other before sitting on the sofa – right in the same corner where he had ended up last night, James couldn’t help noticing. While James was still taking a sip from his bottle, Jeremy asked:

“So… is this a ‘no’?”

James almost choked on the beer:

“What?”

“The… date thing.”

 _Oh hell._ James put his bottle down on the floor and restrained himself from rolling his eyes, but couldn’t help scrubbing a hand on his face before asking:

“Were you serious?”

“Well it’s not compulsory or anything, but if it’s something you would like, why not? You’ve said it’s not that different than dealing with a woman so, despite we’ve already, er… done things, I thought that could be the next reasonable step. If you want to.”

Unfortunately - or probably unexpectedly, James couldn’t decide – it made sense. _Bloody fucking trying._

“Well...”, James said, just to take time, and realised how Jeremy so actively trying felt way too close to let him take the lead, so besides being patient and kind James reckoned he’d better have been strong too and tried to keep in control somehow:

“I don't want to steal your words Jeremy but... what are we doing?”

Jeremy didn’t miss a beat:

“Well, you've asked me I'd fancy giving this a try, and I told you I do, then I've screwed up everything, as my usual. I still don't know what we're doing exactly, but I quite liked it the last time we did it. I hope I've made up for my daft behaviour up to last night, and if not, please consider my offer for a date again.”

 _Oh crikey, this is Jeremy being sincere, this is more than trying._ That was another level of intimacy they were talking at, it was a very unusual register for Jeremy and the topic wasn’t helping either; despite his alleged preparedness, James wasn’t by any means ready for it:

“You’re not taking the piss, are you?”

“Never been more serious. And your scepticism hurts a bit, actually”

_Fucking sincere._

James run a hand in his hair before replying:

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that… And it hadn’t been all up to you, but ok. So... I'm glad that you've enjoyed last night. I also did.”

He thought it was an overall nice thing he said, but Jeremy didn’t seem flattered:

“Really? Because you… you didn't kiss me while we did… that”, ending the phrase with a vague gesture of his hand.

_No obscene gestures, no ‘penis-things’: oh cock, this is real._

"Oh. Yes, I know... I thought you might complain it was gay...”, James tried to offer under a smirk, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows at the observation:

"Oh no, the _other things_ we've done might have been gay, but not kissing... I wouldn’t have minded if you’d kissed me, kissing is good. I'd even like to do it right now, just so you know...”, he added with an over-dramatic suggestive sideway glance. James chuckled at Jeremy’s attempt, _good old goofy Jeremy, easier to deal with,_ and Jeremy kept going:

"I was glad you’ve kissed me at the end, I thought it was just a shag - a weird kind of shag, actually, but… it was good, I’m not going to deny I’ve deeply enjoyed it. Even if you can't imagine how long it took for my neck to recover... and there are stains on the couch, look! I'll have to get it cleaned and pretend it’s a spill of eggnog - and it's June!"

Despite he was starting to get lost in the rollercoaster of emotions, James ended up laughing both at the envision of the scene and at how hopelessly worried Jeremy looked, and that second consideration made him get back to some level of seriousness, because for how sincere Jeremy was being, he’d still dodged James’s request for a talk. So James concentrated and tried again:

“I’m sorry for your sofa… anyway, Jeremy… about all that has happened until now…”

“Er… yes… well, I just want you to know that… despite my previous objection… it’s not about the kissing only. Not anymore.”

James was going to hush him, in order to take the reins of the conversation, then realised the meaning of the heartfelt explanations and became unable to. Jeremy, instead, was marching like a train:

“And, if you’re still willing to give it a try, and I deeply hope you do, I guess you’ve noticed I’ve largely improved in dealing with – ahem – your penis. I must admit It took me a while... yes, I know I'm always mock you for being the slow one, please don't rub it in”, Jeremy concluded, and his last request sounded not less sincere than the rest of his speech.

James tried again, already resigned to be interrupted one more time:

“Well… yes, I’ve noticed, and… I’m wondering if it was because… you’re thinking about- seriously thinking, I mean, about…”, but this time it was him that seemed unable to put up a sensible statement, and Jeremy promptly took the chance to talk; he shifted to the edge of the couch, closer to James, before saying:

"James. Do we really need to have the talk? I mean, it's already... please bear with me, it's already awkward like this, do we really need to sit at a table and point out how utterly incompetent we're going to be at this?"

James struggled to not object: Jeremy’s proposal to consciously avoid any sort of preliminary analysis, practically asking him to embrace the incompetence, crashed against his own will to share some kind of planning, a brief survey to check if they were going to fit, for which, in one of his most optimistic hypothetic scenarios, he had already figured out the chance of being mocked for his quirk for pre-flight checks, extended to their – _er, relationship._

Yet, when he tried to come out with a suitable complaint, he couldn’t find anything worth being said, mostly because - _and yes, you were right, you’re the best journalist here, the best one at choosing exactly the right words_ – he wasn’t able to retort anything after the way Jeremy had nonchalantly already assumed they were _going to be_. Game, set, match. Incompetent or not, they were going to be, simple as that. _I hate having to deal with you like this. I fucking like you because of this._

James quickly decided that his will to take the lead of it all could be replaced by a more subtle fine-adjusting work performed almost behind the scenes, a blatant excuse for his conscience to avoid admitting the complete failure of his plan, then, after that, it was a known sensation, that sort of blackout of common sense before a risky choice, the instant of blind thoughtlessness right before a dive: _this is Jeremy, take it or leave it._

"Okay."

At first, Jeremy raised an eyebrow:

"'Okay, but'?"

"No, okay, you’re right.”

Then both, utterly surprised:

“Really?”

 _Really._ “Yes. Just, if we’re both aware that there’s… there’s this, please, let me… set the pace in this. Let me guide you in this. Trust me in this, Jeremy, please.”

It probably was a stupid thing to say, a pointless clause considering the well-known extent of Jeremy’s forthrightly impetuousness, but it came out like that, achingly sincere, a last attempt to satisfy his own self-respect before giving in.

"I do. I do trust you James, the problem it’s not you, it’s me. I'm bloody scared. Of hurting you. Of losing you. Do you think we could ever go back, if everything goes wrong? I don't think so, it has already taken so much to get here, and I know it was because of me! – well, mostly, you’ve also behaved like a snobby twat at least twice but it’s ok, it doesn’t matter - I know it’s me, I know I’ve always chosen the worst time, always said the wrong thing, but it was all so fucking brand new to me, and I was scared and excited at the same time and there was the show and everything else. But it’s not the show I care about in the end, I just don't want to lose you."

Jeremy’s stream of consciousness was the perfect example of the kind of keenness James has dreaded having to deal with, but the feature passed completely undetected since James was holding for dear life to avoid being overwhelmed by the content of the monologue, more than by the style.

Something squeezed his stomach, so much to have him squint at that feeling; he couldn't understand if it was painful or pleasant, for sure it was overwhelming enough to prevent him to open his eyes for a few, long seconds.

When he managed to, he found Jeremy staring at him worriedly, awaiting: James didn't know what to answer, didn't know how to answer at all because the grip he felt at his stomach hadn't disappeared completely, it only had moved up to his throat. The chances of Jeremy being scared, being worried about the consequences, being afraid of losing him were never being contemplated despite the overanalyses he had performed, and besides adding to the amount of incompetence he hadn’t known to have, they also uncovered a side of Jeremy James was both flattered and frightened to deal with.

“Sorry. That… was… unexpected, from you.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes:

"Stop belittling me and answer: what if?"

 _Ouch._ "Well… I don't know, Jezza."

"Oh come on, don't tell me you haven't thought about it! You’ll have a flowchart pinned to the wall in your shed, I'm sure”,

and despite the sudden change of register James was thankful for Jeremy’s attempt to ease the mood, so he mockingly frowned:

"I don't have anything like that, you moron", crossing his arms and leaning back into the armchair.

Jeremy chuckled, then put up his earnest face again:

"Haven't you planned this this far?"

"No. Sod off Jeremy, I hadn't planned anything; if I had to be honest, I kept focusing on the right opposite up to the day you’ve tried to kiss me”

Jeremy stared at him in bewilderment:

"So... you, James Daniel May, are telling me that you haven't thought about this - while I've spent innumerable sleepless night racking my poor brain over it?"

It was hard to decide how much of Jeremy’s statement was a joke, but James didn’t even try, his words flowing out unfiltered:

"No, yes, you know I did, I obviously did, because it’s… complicated, Jeremy, but... I quite like you - I’ve always liked you, there's no much to think about in the end."

Before realizing what he’d just said. _Well done May, congrats, that’s definitely the right thing to say right now, why don’t you also highlight how many times you’ve wanked thinking of him?_

James’s second thoughts seemed validated by the way Jeremy blushed before standing up and walking a few steps around the sofa. James was silently cursing himself: Jeremy’s words until that moment weren’t something that could have been misunderstood, and it was a while that Jeremy was well aware James was _interested,_ yet James still felt like he was walking on thin ice, and that last admission, worded like that, was probably too much to bear for Jeremy.

Eventually, Jeremy turned towards James, propping his hands to the backrest of the sofa, his weight on his straight arms. He looked around like he was searching for inspiration, before being able to stare at James again. Then he spoke:

“I think… I quite like you too… er, mine is a more recent discover and I’m still a bit uncomfortable in admitting it, I’m afraid, please don’t get offended by that. But I do. I do like you. In that sense.”

James got anything but offended, but having considered the way words were failing him and the complete lack of oxygen he was experiencing, despite the three-digits heartrate, he chose to stop talking, stop thinking as well and just stood up from the armchair to reach Jeremy behind the couch.

He pulled himself together just enough to be sure to avoid any misstep and be lucid enough to understand if he was doing the right thing – and, if so, to enjoy it – standing next to Jeremy, who had turned towards him.

James raised his head, slightly tilting it, and didn’t need to add anything as Jeremy closed the gap between them and kissed him on his lips, so gently that James shivered at the touch.

James took the missing half a step to put his arms under Jeremy’s, placing both hands on his shoulders to pull him closer and kiss him back, sweetly, until he felt Jeremy’s fingers tangled among his hair, cupping his nape: then the kiss grew deeper, and James’s intended lucidity was soon replaced by burning pleasure and blissed fulfilment.

Eventually, Jeremy broke the kiss but didn’t pull away; he turned his head just a bit, still panting, his nose on the side of James’s forehead, and pointed out:

“I’m going to be a pain in the arse at this, but you already know it, right?”,

_I know, that’s why I wanted to talk about this– no, rephrasing, May, rephrasing:_

“I’m asking for it, thus I can’t complain - but I’ll do it anyway, if needed.”

James felt Jeremy nodding against his head, “Fair”.

“For a start, you’d better get back to kissing me.”

and Jeremy grinned happily, instantly turning and tilting his head for their lips to meet again.


	18. Chapter 18

James already knew how easy it was for him to get high on Jeremy’s smell, the darkest notes of it unaffected by the taste of beer lingering over them. He liked the way the crinkled skin felt under his mouth, the tickling of the curls under his nose; he loved the way Jeremy had pinned him against the wall the last time, but being held so tightly to have lost the count of Jeremy’s arms was a different thing – James dared to say _sweet_.

His attention got drifted to Jeremy’s neck, right below his jawline and then down along muscles and tendons, and Jeremy moaned - and shrieked sometimes, “Sorry, ticklish”, so James moved back to his lips and started again, same route, until he found the buttons of Jeremy’s shirt, not that crisp anymore. Kissing, licking, tasting. He wasn’t so sure if try and undo one was a good idea, so he restrained himself; he couldn’t do the same about what was happening inside his jeans though, his arousal pushing against the zipper and, indirectly, against Jeremy’s crotch. He feared it could have been too much for Jeremy, as it had already happened, so he was pleasantly surprised by his request:

“James… Shall we move this to the couch?”

“Oh, yes…”

They walked to the other side of the sofa and James waited for Jeremy to be settled in.

“Er, I’ll take the corner again, ok?”

“Perfect. Now just let me…”

James said, while moving over him, taking care of not crushing anyone’s plums, avoiding any potential crotch contact for good measure, even if it took all his willpower considering how tempting having Jeremy right under him was. When he felt stable enough, he leant down to kiss Jeremy and asked:

“Are you comfortable enough, is this okay?”

“Oh yes, as long as you’ll keep kissing me”

“Well, grant me: as long as you won’t panic about having an erection”, James pointed out with a smirk, but Jeremy looked particularly unimpressed:

“Told you, I’ve largely improved, I can’t guarantee I won’t freak out, but… you’ve been bloody brilliant last time… and I do trust you. Even around my gentleman’s sausage.”

He stated, and James smiled, delighted by that confident Jeremy, so he kept going:

“And I’d hate to have to get my sofa cleaned twice, so I guess we’d better take advantage of it”

“You’re a moron”

“You like me”

Despite the slight embarrassment due to the indisputable truth of Jeremy’s statement, James answered proudly,

“I do”,

but also decided he’d better prevent Jeremy from talking further, so he went down on him again, going for his mouth. Despite the odd angle, Jeremy’s dedication was a more than valid reason to struggle for balance, and James focussed on it also to avoid looking at those buttons on Jeremy’s shirt, still teasing him. It didn’t last long though:

"James”

"Yes?”, he answered, his lips still on Jeremy’s.

"I want you to know that I'm having an erection and I'm perfectly fine with it."

"Sure?", James asked, cheekily, and Jeremy boldly replied:

"Check it yourself!”

Then it dawned on him:

“No don’t!”, Jeremy shouted,

“Wait, I- no, what I meant-“, he then mumbled, confidence gone, scrubbing a hand over his face.

James hushed him:

"Shhh. No problem. I won't check the content of your pants against your will, ok?"

“That's not what I mean either… God I’m so sorry James… “

"Oh come on, you've always taken the piss out of me for being gay and we've all had a good laugh at it..."

Those words boosted Jeremy, that quickly turned his worried nervousness to the more than welcome usual jesting:

"Exactly! You can't imagine how much of a dork I feel now, thinking about all I've said in the past!  
Also, it turns out I was right the whole time... You don't have a dungeon though, right?"

James was listening to him with the same smile he kept when they were filming, rolling his eyes at the last question, just like it had been written on the screenplay.

"No. But I can offer a pillow fort, if you'd fancy", he replied.

“That could be fun”, Jeremy said, and James looked back at him with interested surprise. At the realization of the potential implications, Jeremy flushed, more embarrassed than before:

“Oh, again, you weasel! Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I’ve said it. No, I didn’t realise it could be read as a yes to your sneaky invitation to the bed.”

“I didn’t mean that! I haven’t realised it could have been read as an invitation to the bed – anyway, a bed would be more comfortable, indeed”, James tried to suggest, but Jeremy hadn’t recovered his confidence yet, except for retorting:

“May! I’m already tired of being the slow one here! You can’t drag me to bed this soon, technically we haven’t been on a date yet, what kind of slut are you?”

“It was for a matter of comfort only…”, James explained, but Jeremy shook his head, unpersuaded, and James understood it was better to avoid the topic, yet he couldn’t help asking:

“Jezza… it is a date so significant to you?”

Jeremy looked straight in his eyes, took a deep breath and answered:

“I just wanted you to know I’m serious about this.

But you probably have noticed since I’m allowing you to practically straddle me, so it’s not that important in end”

_I have._ James didn’t say it loud, but his fond smile was speaking for him.

“Anyway, considering you’re willing to lead, I’m offering to be dined and wined if you fancy, I mean, what else could you be asking for?”

James laughed, a sincere laughter, liberating, and his wiggles of happiness ended up refracting down to Jeremy’s cock, and didn’t pass unnoticed.

“Ouch… Sorry, I just can’t… keep it chocked here anymore…”, Jeremy said, sneaking a hand down inside his jeans, to which James tried to cautiously offer:

"Do you want me to do something about it?",

But Jeremy jolted again:

"No! No, er, sorry... well you are already doing something about it, I'm going to need quite the opposite soon though..."

"What about this", James asked, then grinded his pelvis against Jeremy's crotch; Jeremy shuddered, and James couldn’t understand if it was for pleasure or for discomfort at first, but it got clearer as soon as Jeremy spoke:

“James. I’m sober. Please consider it.”

“Oh. Ok, sorry… Mh, the beers have gone warm by now… Do you want me to get something else?”

“No no no! What did you understand? I’m willing to… do things… sober. But it’s harder than I thought… you’re the skilled one here, do you think some liquid courage would help? It has worked before...”

“Er… maybe? But I actually prefer you being sober… If you’re okay with it…”

“I mean, what we’ve done last time, it wasn’t bad at all, but… it probably would have taken me hours to accept it if I hadn’t been that tipsy… please don’t get mad at me for that, I swear I’ve liked and I won’t accuse you of harassment because of that…”

“Well if it’s a matter of time I have no hurry”

“But my penis is going to rot if it keeps being hard much longer! It could happen, you know? I’ve read it in a book, you wouldn’t like it – neither I, actually.”

"Jeremy. You can take care of it by yourself, if it’s what you’re trying to suggest…”

"Won't you get offended?”

"No. Won't you mind me doing the same?”

"No. Er, can we just… kiss… while… self-pleasuring?”

James wasn’t expecting that; he quickly estimated how complicate it would technically have been to comply, but it felt something somehow too tender, and too important for Jeremy, to decline. “Sure… come here”, he said, cupping Jeremy’s face to kiss him on the lips, and the soft ‘Oh yes’ Jeremy whispered before meeting his mouth sent shivers down his back, and his cock trembled again. He took the chance to undo his jeans and finally wrapped his hand around his cock, and Jeremy was soon doing the same, without breaking the kiss.

Ultimately, wanking was the easy way out, but having Jeremy so close was both arousing and distracting, and James wasn’t either comfortable nor relaxed enough to enjoy it properly; sadly but reasonably, the kissing didn’t last long as they both slowly shifted to better positions on the couch, Jeremy almost sat there and James curled between him and the backrest. Still close together, though, and James closed his eyes to let the physical stimuli coming from Jeremy wanking next to him mix up with the slightly different arrangement, in terms of reciprocal position, clothes and place, he set up in his mind, so that when he came, it was with Jeremy, for Jeremy and because of Jeremy all the same.

It turned out way messier than the previous time, despite James’s attempt to contain it all in his hand. Given his quietness, James realized Jeremy had been quicker than him, but as he tried to stretch his legs, he heard him saying:

“No, please stay… It’s no problem… I haven’t called the cleaner yet…”

James snorted and let his head fell back against the sofa, and when he opened his eyes again they found each other closer than they were before; James was too drained to think, he just followed his instinct and turned towards Jeremy, propping on an elbow to reach his mouth and kiss him. He realised what was happening when Jeremy wrapped an arm around him, gently pulling him closer, fingers playing with his hair; James was sure he flushed darker, his heart promptly back to a pre-orgasm pace, as Jeremy turned the assumingly quick peck started by James in a proper kiss, slow, tender and caring, yet so intense that James had to place his still wet hand next to Jeremy’s head to keep his balance.

Eventually, James shifted aside again, Jeremy’s arm still around him.

“You’re brilliant.”

“I haven’t done anything this time Jezza…”

“You’re brilliant all the same. You always are. And you like me. I’m so happy you do.”

James closed his eyes, probably more ecstatic now than at the acme of his orgasm, Jeremy’s words feeling so sincere and deep that it took all James’s strength to avoid giving up and just saying that he loved him, plain and simple, unbiased by what they’ve just done.

“I’m using the lavatory…”, he said instead, less romantic but perhaps more advisable giving his conditions at that moment, and safer as well.

“Make yourself at home.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since things are moving further, the narration will consider both points of view if needed. Thank you all for keeping reading this, there's a few more things going to happen before the end.

When James came back to the living room Jeremy was having a drink right next to the liquor cabinet, his clothes shoddily straighten up, staring at the couch.

“It’s a complete mess. Want some?”, he then asked him.

“Just a drop, please”

Jeremy checked how much was left in his glass, then handed it out to James.

_Oh._ Nothing impressive, they’d already shared bottles and drinks in the past, but nevertheless it felt… _domestic._ He didn’t have time to process that consideration, though, for as soon as he’d drunk it and put the glass down, Jeremy got closer and kissed him again, sweetly, like there had been something wrong he should have had to make up for, and deep enough for Jeremy’s taste to overcome the one of whatever spirit Jeremy had just offered him.

“I'm busy with all the stuff I've postponed until the end of the show these days”, Jeremy explained just after breaking the kiss, still hugging James at the waist, “But I'll be free for sure on Saturday night, if it suits you”

“Sure, so, see you on Saturday, ok?”

“Can’t wait”

“Er, Jezza… could you… I mean, since we’re technically just giving this a try… could you avoid telling anyone about this?”

“No problem, it wasn’t in my plans anyway. And, James…”

“Mh?”

“It’s been brilliant”, he said, leaving a quick peck on James’s lips, “You are brilliant. Have a goodnight”

James decided to smile and only answer “Goodnight Jezza”, then headed to the door, fearing he could easily have got dragged in an everlasting snogging session if he had lingered there just a bit longer.

They met on Saturday night as planned, then on Tuesday and on Thursday again – for the first time at James’s, and each time they ended up making out and wanking on the sofa, but James had been farsighted enough to throw an old blanket over it before Jeremy arrived.

The blanket on the sofa had been a matter of jest for the whole night and, at the end of it, the stains on it weren't as accidental as Jeremy claimed them to be, especially the one shaped like a J. He traced it, unsteadily, with the tip of his penis, wet with cum, exclusively to piss James off, seeing the fun side of it. It worked, well beyond Jeremy’s intentions though.

'It's like dealing with a 12-year-old boy trapped inside his great-grandfather’s body", _that I do like nevertheless_ , James commented, keeping the last words for himself, but the sad sigh that came with that consideration slipped out anyway.

"Oh come on, it's just a blanket..."

It wasn’t about the blanket, obviously; it was about Jeremy being able to get more intimate with a bloody old blanket than with James himself, or at least that was what James has ended up extrapolating from his analysis.

Since their first alcohol-free encounter, he’d started compiling a mental list of Jeremy’s noes, aiming to avoid as many missteps as possible, but the task soon outgrew his worst predictions: it turned out there weren’t many gestures Jeremy welcomed, and James couldn’t find a way to fill what he felt being a huge gap between kissing and masturbating together – yet strictly each on their own side.

After a few attempts, he discovered that wrist kisses were okay too, better if stolen while Jeremy was cupping his face, but as soon as he’d tried to move his hand, or his mouth, further, to kiss his palm or intertwine their fingers, Jeremy always pull his arm back, more or less explicitly.

Hugs, strokes and seldom squeezes were fine, until there was at least a layer of fabric in between; Jeremy had never prevented James from kissing any bit of uncovered skin he’d offered – hence the soft wrist kisses and James’s weakness for his neck – but any attempt to slide more than a finger under a hem was promptly repelled, by means of claiming to be chilly, ticklish or in the undelayable need to shift to another position. It was a serious matter, and he was still thankful for having opted for clothed frottage only, that night, as any other attempt could had resulted in a complete disaster, given the evidences.

From Jeremy’s side, things were even stricter: apart from when they were kissing, Jeremy seemed unable to bear any kind of skin contact, always aiming nowhere else but James’s lips.

The border, James understood, was right under his Adam’s apple: Jeremy had never kissed him any farther than there, never touched his bare skin around the collar or under the sleeves of his t-shirts. Instead, for a still unclear reason, Jeremy was perfectly at ease with James’s hair, up to the point he had sometimes played with his locks or kissed them. His whole face was okay too, to touch and kiss sometimes - ears included, at least incidentally: James had shivered at the swift brush of lips against them while Jeremy whispered ‘You’re brilliant’, after they’ve wanked next to each other.

Wanking was good in the end, it was something; they also managed to find a better arrangement on the couch, actually allowing them to keep kissing and making it easier to shift closer again right after they’ve finished, and the way Jeremy always grabbed onto him as his first conscious move, even before having been able to speak again, felt too instinctive to be staged.

But such an arrangement was also a problem for James, as it was harder for him to keep his hands under control, to avoid all those moves Jeremy had already proved to disapprove, that were so easy and heartfelt for James, yet, according to his analysis, still unwelcomed on Jeremy’s side.

James wondered if it was the right moment to address at the real meaning of his sigh.

_Maybe not._ "And you're just a moron."

Jeremy giggled, oblivious to all that was going through James’s mind, and while smartening himself up he just asked:

"So... as I've mentioned before, I'm going to spend the long weekend with the kids - any chance to see you again on Monday?"

“I guess I’ll be at home as usual.”

“That’s not the enthusiastic response I was hoping for, but I take it as a yes”

Then it came to James’s mind:

“No, wait… I’m having a sodding interview in the afternoon, with pics and everything I won’t get out of it until late…”

“I don't begrudge you it. See you at eight then, I’ll bring curry to ease your mood, ok?”

In a peak of indignation, fuelled by both the miserable perspective of the interview and the bitter disappointment for Jeremy’s behaviour, James almost burst out:

“Hope you’ll have better arguments to ease my mood actually!”

It was probably a widely construable statement, but James wasn’t willing to apologise for nor correct it; instead, he grabbed Jeremy by the loops of his jeans, for good measure, and kissed him again, eagerly, while unmistakeably grinding against his crotch.

“Er… I’ll bring booze too, ok?”, Jeremy replied, trying to sound less surprised than he was, and James let him go after one last peck.

While he was going home, Jeremy promised himself to think about the chance, the glorious yet terrifying chance James had really meant _it_ , aiming to find a way to deal with his reluctance towards James’s, _er, physicality,_ before Monday.


	20. Chapter 20

Jeremy’s resolution got easily overridden during the weekend, outclassed by all the activities he’d planned with the kids, and their problems with professors, hobbies, friends or boyfriends were definitely more important than his middle-age gay crisis. He stiffened when someone mentioned James as a reference for slowness while discussing football players, and his laughter came out less entertained than the others’.

It came to his mind again when Richard rang him up, to say hi and ask what he was about during the days off; when asked about how things were going with _Jessica_ , the woman Jeremy said he was trying to apologize to when they were chatting together that night at the pub, Jeremy cringed and quickly dismissed the topic,

“Can’t talk about it, kids here”

On Sunday night, when his concern resurfaced more urgently, Jeremy tried to think about it, with the questionable company offered by a glass of whiskey.

So, James seemed to have _intentions_. Reasonable intentions. Yet worrisome, to Jeremy’s point of view. He still remembered how much it had taken for him not to panic during their, _er, first time – oh God_ , relying upon the alcohol-induced numbness to avoid focusing how it was James’s cock, even if clothed, that was rubbing against his own; _it_ _was the gayest I’ve ever been_ , and yet probably so far from James’s _final intentions_ he really didn’t know how he was going to deal with it when presented with the chance again, sober.

It wasn’t a matter of labels, though; he wasn’t even sure it was a matter of homosexuality at all, perhaps it was just hard to accept it was that same James he’d been working with for years – not to think he was going to have to work with him again soon. Being a bloke was an aggravating circumstance, obviously, enough to induce a _sodding penis-centric nightmare,_ in which every inch of James’s skin was directly connected to his cock. Better, James’s cock was an aggravating circumstance, and his body all around it felt like to a highway going straight to it.

He hadn’t lied when he said he wasn’t only about the kissing anymore, and whatever what James had come out with that night was called, it was pleasant all the same, it probably wasn’t as engaging for James as it was for him, since the other had to do all the work, but it was fucking good to have had James like that, committed and devoted, all for him, _because in the end_ , he thought, _love is a matter of selfishness_.

_Oh fuck. I’ve said it. I’m fucking in love with James. Well I’ve thought it, but it’s the same._

Jeremy put the glass on the coffee table, because he was going to need both hands to scrub his face properly, given the dimensions of the issue. Having said it obviously hadn’t changed the essence of his feelings for James, but he had promised himself to avoid the verb, for the sake of his pride and self-esteem, until James had admitted first – if he would ever have.

To pass like the last one to fall for it. The strongest one, perhaps. Instead, he fell first.

_Fallen for James. Fallen apart._ James didn’t have to know, he wasn’t going to tell him, yet it was another fact he’d lost control over, and it hurt a bit.

Another sip of whisky though, and it was perfectly fine to be in love with James, he decided, yet such admission made it harder to explain his reluctancy to deal with the less-spiritual side of it.

Being in love with James was good, James was a good soul, probably the best one he could have had fallen in love with; his body, though, was a different matter.

It worked, with his face: he liked his thin lips, so easy to catch between his own, and his spaniel hair, that he’d mocked for so long, were so soft under his fingers – _not feminine, not what I mean, just… pleasant. Fluffy. Good._

For the rest though, it was James, a sodding bloke, not even so attractive, especially after having considered the standard type he’d discovered while watching gay porn. Not that he could have contemplated the chance to do that kind of activities with anyone else, but still.

He liked- _love James – but it sounds so serious that he’ll never believe me saying that_ , and wanking next to him was definitely better than wanking alone, as it was James he had been thinking about while stroking his cock back and forth, since well before they’d had the chance to do it together.

But if the subject of his fantasies was James, the setup he’d been used to imagine was different; it started with the two of them kissing, as they had been actually doing, but in his imagination, the kiss was growing increasingly deeper, beyond anatomical boundaries, up to the point James was kissing him down there – and in Jeremy’s mind it somehow wasn’t a blowjob, still a kiss - and James was actually really good at kissing him like that; his imagination was then quick to overcome the sensory inputs, forgetting it was his hand only – also thanks to the noises James made while wanking next to him - and leading Jeremy to his not-return point.

It was good to have James so close then, for those seconds of blissed emptiness, and even if the source of his concerns was actually hanging limp out of James’s briefs, in those moments it felt like he didn’t have a cock anymore. James was harmless, safe, cosy; blinking at Jeremy, dazed blue eyes and a stupidly happy smile on his face, Jeremy was holding him close like he was the most precious thing he had, sweet to kiss and warm to hug, the perfect solution for both the emotional burden and the post-orgasmic chill.

Kissing was good. Keeping James close was good. But skin contact was different, especially if he was the one starting it. It was such a taboo that Jeremy feel the need to prevent James's attempts also, to avoid the topic completely, to avoid having to return it.

It was perfectly fine to hug James, to grab him and pull him closer, also to pin him against a wall and lean against him with his whole weight, provided that James was dressed, and possibly not palpably aroused.

James was – frighteningly – skilled, self-confident and conscientious, enough for Jeremy to be very happy to have him taking the lead. It turned unexpectedly pleasant to have James straddling him, thankfully still well clothed: he feared he was going to die because of his heartrate, yet it felt a heavenly way to die. And what has come next was even better.

Also, in one of his most shocking dreams, in those jumbled series of events dreams are made of, he was shagging James, with physiologically unexplainable angles and techniques, but still, actively fucking him – and, to his embarrassed recollection the morning after, it felt bloody good.

Anyway, he really couldn’t see himself placing his palms on James’s naked chest, or on the pale skin of his buttocks, or – _God help me_ – on his cock. Minor contacts were problematic as well, due to the phallocentric geometry of James’s body he had conceived; James kept trying, with tender gestures or tentative kisses, oblivious to that further development of Jeremy’s worry, and Jeremy couldn’t help hindering his attempts.

Because the safe thing to do was avoid skin contact at all. Even if it was on James's initiative, to avoid having something to reciprocate for. At least for a while, until he would have been ready.

It was a fair point, he thought: since he didn’t dislike James’s touch on him after all, turning down the chances for it was a disincentive for him as well, perhaps working in raising his urge to come to terms with his limits as soon as possible. For his own interest. _For selfishness_.

After the last glass of whiskey, he was ready to rule that all the humankind should have been in love with James, for the only reason that James was good. For the rest, alcohol didn’t help much, and if James was really intentioned to repeat what they’ve already done, as it was probable given the premises, Jeremy ended up having just a handful of hours to come to terms with his concerns.


	21. Chapter 21

On Monday, five minutes to eight, Jeremy was in front on James’s door, bringing curry as promised, and with that his plan B in liquid form. It was the easy, coward way out, so Jeremy promised himself he wouldn’t have resorted to that unless in real trouble.

Plan A was more sensible yet less well defined, and relied on his amour-propre, a bit of selfishness and James’s _infinite_ understanding. But he felt ready and confident enough, so he rang the bell and waited, impatiently, until what it looked like the ghost of James May came to open the door.

“Hey. Come in.”, James said, closing the door quickly behind them, his tired dullness far from the excited reception Jeremy was expecting.

“God May, if you’re not containing your enthusiasm someone is definitely going to think we’re shagging…”

“Jeremy please, I already had a terrible day…”, he replied, leading the way to the kitchen.

“Yeah, it shows a bit, or perhaps it’s my skilled eye… Rejoice, though, for I brought food!”, Jeremy exclaimed, raising the bags he was carrying for the bottles inside to clang, “And booze too!”

James finally smiled at him, in some kind of relief:

“I thought I would have never said this but: thank you, you’re a blessing… come here”, and as soon as Jeremy has put the bags down, James hugged him, resting his head on Jeremy’s shoulder for the briefest moment, before kissing him, wearily but fondly, his arms weighing on Jeremy’s shoulders.

Jeremy decided to not overthink about how special he felt, how pleasant it was to have James rely on him even if it was for a split second only; he then tried to maintain his incidental supporting stance after they've broken the kiss, and thoughtfully asked:

“Let’s hear, how bad was it?”

“Oh, unpleasant as usual, but it wasn’t the interview only…”, James began explaining, going through the lost parcel, the parking fine and everything else that had seemed to have agreed in messing up his life for that day.

After they had gotten through the curry, and one of Jeremy’s bottle too, Jeremy assumed the wine they'd had was a good compromise between the soberness he tried to maintain and the incentive he felt in need of to deal with James’s alleged intentions - even if something wasn’t going as he’d forecasted, and eventually he ended up being the one bringing up the issue:

“So… if I recall it correctly, you were expecting something else, besides the curry, right?”

“Oh, Jezza”, and probably was because of the wine, but James sounded really impressed by his proposal, Jeremy couldn’t help noticing, “For as much as I want that I’m really knocked out… so, not tonight, okay? But I’m happy you’ve asked…”

The relief for having dodged the chance was completely inappropriate, Jeremy knew it, yet unavoidable, and he relaxed enough to reply cheekily:

“Well I could make do with a good snog then…”

“Better not. And don’t pout. It’s not for the snogging…But I guess we both know where that would be going, please understand it takes me a lot to restrain myself from making moves you wouldn't approve, and I'm not in the right mood to, that’s all. Please forgive me.”

“You've got nothing to be forgiven for, and… you shouldn't restrain yourself, anyway”, Jeremy casually added, for… politeness? Guilt conscience? He didn’t know, it just came out like that, naturally. But at those words James raised an eyebrow, suddenly livelier, to retort:

"Sure, so that you'll scream like a goat and run away as soon as I dare to undo that bloody button on your shirt. And I'll curse myself for having pushed it that far that soon and you'll get drunk and come back here asking for some more time. Lovely prospect.”, he concluded.

Albeit surprised by James’s harsher than usual response, Jeremy rolled with it:

"Granted. But - and I'm not shrinking it all to that single act, however I can't help recalling that things between us have made a huge leap forward mainly because you've pinned me down to my couch - and I'll never be thankful enough for your choice."

James flushed red for how much he was content, satisfied and proud of himself to Jeremy's words, and he could have stolen Jeremy's patented smug face if he hadn't reckoned the topic being too serious. Because the problem remained. Jeremy kept going:

“I owe you I was quite pissed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember what happened – I don’t want to be next time, so maybe it would slightly more difficult but… I mean, I know you're keeping a cautious pace mainly because of me - for bad and for good - and I'm thankful for this as well, but I probably need you to... er, be heavy-handed, just a bit, to get a step further. It has worked in the past, right? And I do trust you.”

Perfectly tailored speech, Jeremy's trademark. But James's attention peaked right at the end of it, in correspondence of the major flaw he'd detected in those words, as his sensitivity had grown dangerously big during the weekend just spent alone and overthinking.

"You don't", he stated, leaning straight against the back of the chair, arms crossed.

"What?"

"You don't trust me. I mean, you're being kind, extremely kind, I know you’re doing your best and I’m really, deeply flattered and happy of it. But that thing you've said, I'm sorry, it's far from being true."

Jeremy stiffened: James wasn’t hitting the heart of the matter, but it wasn't sensible to pretend everything was going smoothly between them. And James didn’t miss the chance to stress it:

"It's like you fear I'm going to harass you, violate you or stole you something or god knows what, every time I tried to touch you Jeremy… We set on the couch, kissing and everything and it’s good but I can’t risk moving a finger without having you panicking about it.

And when… we do… that, you turn on your side and it's like we're not even together anymore. Then you'll back with cuddles and kisses and everything, but you don't trust me around you.

You’ve said you found it difficult to deal with my old chap, and it’s ok; I can also understand your difficulties in having to deal with my other body parts, from my skin down, but Jeremy I don't have them, I'm more than ok with every bit of your body, I'm yearning for having you under me, naked but more importantly happy to be there, I'm craving to run my hands down your skin, exploring, to kiss and taste every inch of it, bloody worshipping it Jeremy, but you don't trust me in that, and I'm sorry but this is going to be a problem..."

Despite the risk of having his voce coming out shaky, for the shivers spreading up his neck, Jeremy tried to object, "James", at least to get a quick break from being under the firing squad, but James raised a finger against him and kept going:

"Not yet. I knew I couldn't have rushed things and I was perfectly fine with giving you more time, but please stop saying you trust me. I know it's the polite thing to say, and perhaps you mean it more than I assume, but if you really think the way you behave when we're intimate together shows your trust in me, well, we're on different levels on that, and probably incompatible."

Jeremy remained silent, a profane Saint Sebastian pierced by James’s poignant words, arms hanging loosely and head thrown back; James had a sodding talent for keeping all his mental trips for himself, until he suddenly burst into a sodding lecture about them, presented with a goose-fleshing level of sincerity and scientifically detached detail that a distracted listener could have assumed he wasn't involved at all. Jeremy hated them, since they usually contained a well redacted catalogue of all his flaws, besides representing a chance to be lost for words - and he hated that too.

James noticed the effects his speech had had when Jeremy looked back at him again, as the woe in his eyes wasn’t referable to his over-stretched neck only; ; he wasn’t regretting it, but realised it turned out more aggressive than he assumed: “Sorry, it shouldn’t have turned out like that… Told you, it wasn’t a good idea to meet tonight, I’m knackered. It’s been way too aggressive, and I’m sorry for that, but the point still stands, I’m afraid.”

“Not your fault. And.. you’re wrong about the trust, but… god James. It’s fucking difficult.”, Jeremy eventually admitted.

“Jeremy what? Would you tell me what’s actually bothering you? Why the hell you don’t want me around except than for kissing?”

“It’s not so easy…”

James stood up, picking up the remains of their dinner to throw them in the sink or in the bin appropriately; meanwhile he spoke to Jeremy without looking at him:

“Jeremy, if we were at a different point I’d have said ‘take your time’, but… this is getting… significantly relevant for me as well… So… I really need you to… do something about it, I’m afraid…“

 _‘Otherwise it’s over’, right?_ , Jeremy concluded by himself, and felt cornered enough to opt for his last, desperate resort: plain sincerity. Elbows on the table, head in his hands, he started rummaging through the depths of his mind to find to the right way to say it:

“Great, so… you’re probably going to get mad, but… it’s still about your cock. Better, it’s about my cock not being the only one here… I know we’re both equipped with the same tool James, it’s just that – and please forgive me for saying this – yours still feels like one too many. I don’t want you to be more feminine or anything: I know it’s you, I like you, I like kissing you, but whatever next step I try to consider, it crashes with the fact you’re a bloke…

I can't, I fucking can't come to terms with it James. I can't see me doing those things you've said - I can't see me doing them to you. It's what is preventing me to go further. You can touch me, I'm perfectly fine with that. But you know what is going to happen if you’re – absolutely reasonably – wanting me to reciprocate? I won’t be able to.

And it’s all because you have a totally legitimate sausage in your pants – and I swear I don’t want you to be any different, please don’t get this wrong. I like you, I bloody like you, I like you in _that_ sense, but every fucking bit of yours keep reminding me you’ve got a cock down there; I’m not even sure it’s because the skin on your elbow is the same skin on your bellend, it’s a more psychological thing, it’s like spinning a top, already knowing that you pull the chord and inevitably it will end up with the toy collapsed on one side – if you can forgive me the awful metaphor… So I guess avoiding the chance it’s the best thing to do unless I’m ready to return.”

James listened carefully and took some time to elaborate Jeremy’s words before answering:

“That’s… a questionable decision, if I may say.”

Not annoyed, not offended. Obviously not surprised. The same old pragmatic James.

“Couldn’t find any better one.

But I do trust you, I can't promise I'll shiver a bit - I already am shivering, actually - but please believe me I'm willing to let you have your way with me, I swear I know you wouldn't attack any of my, er, orifices, I promise I won’t prevent any of your next moves – now that you know what the real matter is.

Because I do trust you.

My only point is that I can't do the same, can't reciprocate, and I know it's miserable and unfair, but… I still don’t feel like doing it, I’m really sorry, but it’s all I can say.”

“Jeremy… don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

"I’m not making any. Test me. If you're ok with having the chance to get nothing in return. Not on your skin, I mean. And please understand I'm still working on it, and... it may sound selfish but... I mean, maybe it would work in... making me come to terms with it sooner", he suggested. 

"I don't want you to feel forced or anything... I'll wait longer. But I don't know how long it will take until it feels… pointless"

"James you'll be waiting all the same because I'm going to be a fucking nightmare at this! So please just… test me meanwhile… I’m sure it will help me… I won’t stop you, I won’t come out with excuses again, please… test me”

"I don't know if it’s a good idea. Not tonight, for sure.”

Then something snapped in James’s mind, and he burst out again:

“I mean Jeremy, how can you... not having considered it? Where’s your blatant homosexualism now? I feared I would have struggled to keep you away from the floats at the next pride parade, and now you can’t even contemplate the chance of touching me because I’m a bloke!”

"I'm not a psychic nor a psychologist May. I have no idea. But please believe me it’s fucking bothering me”

James squinted, trying to calm himself down, before answering:

“I- I do. Sorry, I’m being an arse again… I’m terribly tired, and I’m… worried about this, ok? That doesn’t allow me to be a jerk like this but… told you, not the right moment. I’m really sorry. Why don’t we just sleep over it?”

They exchanged a glance of silent agreement, and Jeremy finally stood up; he stopped next to James before heading out, equipped with his best puppy eyes:

"James please be aware it kills me to go away like this, while you're mad at me...”

"I'm not mad at you - yet, so just go home before it's too late, ok?”

"Can I have a goodnight kiss at least?"

James eventually melted, tiredness and that hint of guilt he couldn’t deny feeling for having so harshly ranted at Jeremy defeating his deliberate inflexibility, and threw his arms on Jeremy’s shoulders; Jeremy hugged him, calibrating his moves to end up with his hands safely on the fabric of James’s shirt, and they exchanged a few quick tender pecks.

"What about tomorrow?”, Jeremy tried between the kisses; he wouldn’t have been ready all the same, but it felt he owed it to James.

“For what?”, he asked, and Jeremy wasn’t sure if James was playing dumb or just particularly burnt out, so he explained it at his best, gesturing vaguely in the air:

“Er… me, you, penises, that kind of stuff…”,.

James snorted a laugh, still well clung to Jeremy:

“We’ll see, okay?”

Jeremy nodded and kissed him again, and James finally let him go.

“Have a good night, dream of me”

“No thanks, I want to sleep”, James replied, giggling, “Good night Jezza”

Once back home, Jeremy ended up wanking - _alone, this time_ , he felt the need to highlight – to vent all the tension, but his standard, almost comfy fantasy got replaced by the vision of James lying over him, _wearing a t-shirt at least,_ running his hands, exploring, kissing, tasting, _worshipping, oh God James yes please,_ and, apart from a minor issue with clothes, Jeremy could eventually picture himself deeply happy to be there.


	22. Chapter 22

Jeremy wasn’t feeling ready yet. Alcohol would have surely made things easier, he reckoned, but it wasn’t the solution in the end. Not for convincing himself, nor for the act itself. He wasn’t even sure another round of gay porn would have helped.

Not completely ready, for technical reasons: again, it was easy to admit it had become more than a crush, and after a few tries he managed to articulate the words ‘I’m in love with James May’ quite smoothly, but the content of James’s pants – and its implementation in their, _oh God, relationship_ , was still a matter of concern despite the overall positive brief, rushed experience he had had.

James was skilled though, and demanding, and it was both the greatest compliment ever and the most pressing worry. However, he’d probably already made the most significative step, admitting his reluctance – just in time to have avoided worse consequences, Jeremy assumed. He also hoped James understood his confession as a significant sign of commitment: he was quite proud of having managed to explain it in a way James hadn’t got mad at.

He was less proud of the solution he’d proposed. _Selfish. Easy way out, telling James you’re not able to._

The thought of James taking care of him - _in that sense_ \- wasn’t that foreign nor unwelcome anymore, it had turned into something he was ready to indulge, and there was a small, boldly insolent part of him that was contemplating the chance of just lying there and enjoying whatever James had planned, _selfishly_ , since he’d already apologize for his lack of active cooperation.

Jeremy didn’t want to let the worst thought he’d conceived, according to which _James has never_ _explicitly asked for me to reciprocate_ , prevail; he owe it to James, that same James that somehow had found him attractive – _and James is never wrong, so that must be something good left in this wreckage of a man_ – so his approach became particularly strict on the definition of selfishness.

Late in the morning, Jeremy’s mobile rang with a text:

‘I’ve been a bit of an arse last night. It probably wasn’t clear, so please be aware I will be happy to see you again tonight’

 _Me too. Happily terrified._ It was something he didn’t feel like typing up though, so he rephrased it:

‘Looking forward to. I promise I’ll behave myself.’

James’s reply came right after:

‘Don’t need to, I like you all the same – unfortunately. See you at seven’

Jeremy blushed, _oh God James, what kind of hopeless romantic have you turned me into?_

With the serenity for having put all his cards on the table – almost all of them, not that one, not yet – and a couple of bottles for good measure, he rang the bell at James’s at exactly seven o’clock. Confident. _Almost_ ready.

That time it was the standard, perhaps even more glowing than usual, James that came to open, to Jeremy’s relief. As soon as the door got closed behind them, James gave him a quick kiss, then his gaze moved to the bag Jeremy was carrying:

“Armed with good intentions?”

“Oh don’t freak out… it’s… plan B, ok?”

“What’s plan A then?”, James asked, teasingly.

Jeremy giggled openly before whispering to James’s ear:

"Penile activities”

James rolled his eyes and Jeremy shook his head in response, walking to the kitchen ahead of him:

"You daft, you defeatist daft... It will be great”

Once there, James took the bag from his hands and placed the bottles on the counter, then turned to Jeremy, who was waiting for another, better kiss, and scolded him instead:

“You know, alcohol-induced penile-activities don’t sound too appealing actually…”

"Er, you may be right, but I'm not sure I'm going to do it without some liquid courage…”

"So let's not do it, it's not mandatory or anything. Sit down, the pie is just ready.”

"James. I want to.”

"Exactly, I also do want _you_ to, not your drunken misjudgement. Let’s eat something instead, would you?”

 _No._ No matter how good James’s pies were, Jeremy was way too hyped and determined to not lose the chance to move things further. He didn’t sit down; it wasn’t the pie what he’d come there for. And it wasn’t the drunken misjudgement what he had been driven by to end up under James the first time. Alcohol had surely helped somehow, but it wasn’t the reason he had let James shagging him or whatever they’d done.

“You can open one of those bottles, it’ll go well with it”, James continued, unaware of the effect his words were having on Jeremy, while shuffling around the kitchen to find his oven gloves.

“No. You don’t want my drunken misjudgement... whatever you've said.”

“I could cope with your tipsy one, if it makes you feel better.”

“Actually, no.”

Firm. Serious. Enough for James to stop right in front of the oven and ask him worriedly:

“Jeremy… is everything alright?”

_No. Because I like you. But you have a penis. And that bothers me more than it should. But I’ll get over it, I promise._

“No alcohol. No drunken misjudgement. But you’ll have to deal with sober me, so make sure you’ll use all your persuasion to kiss me down to bed then…”, _oh God I’ve said it_ , “Or whatever we’re going to do tonight.”

"Jeremy... this is not a joke, right?”

"I'm dead serious James. I’m also dead scared, to be honest, but it's something I want to do, because… because it’s you. And I like you.”

“Jeremy, I do like you too, but-“,

“Oh shut up, I know what you’re going to say, I don’t even let you touch me, blah blah blah. Rubbish. You have full discretionary power, carte blanche, I’m willing to collaborate – for the rest, you know my conditions.”

James stood there, listening, visibly sceptical yet amused:

“Okay... Please don’t get offended, I’m checking a thing”, he eventually said; he took off both gloves, set them on the counter, and then sneaked his hand under Jeremy’s t-shirt, stroking his side.

“Yeek! Cold!”

Shaking his head, disaffected, James pulled his hand back, but Jeremy was quicker and held it in place, his t-shirt caught between their hands.

“No! It’s just - you’re cold… for real, this time, er, I’m sorry, okay? For everything… just warm up that dead limb and keep going…”

James looked straight at Jeremy’s eyes, with intrigued determination; he pulled his hand away just to rub it together with the other, and since Jeremy was defiantly waiting for him, he decided to go big: he slid both hands on Jeremy’s sides, under his t-shirt again, slowly, until they meet on Jeremy’s back and he was able to drag him closer hugging him at the waist.

Jeremy was shivering at the contact but stood still; he shivered even more at the realisation of how much he was enjoying that, the feel of James’s naked forearms pleasantly tickling his skin.

"Too much?”

"No. It's... good. Really good. Just… Kiss me. Let me kiss you. I... need it."

James hadn’t kissed him yet only because he was busy in his important experiment of checking the extent of freedom Jeremy claimed he had, so it was easy to just tilt his head and lean closer, to let Jeremy reach his lips. The difficult part became restraining from pulling off Jeremy's t-shirt just there and then, both for how soft and smooth Jeremy felt under his fingertips and the abandoned dedication he was being kissed with.

“Jeremy you're...”

 _An idiot. And an homosexualist_ , Jeremy assessed, _and whatever you want James, as long as you keep holding me like this._

James didn't end his sentence, and Jeremy was left with the hope that James thought he was something good - it was possible, in the end, considering the way James was kissing him, tasting him like he was… an ice cream cone, tasty and cool, eaten somewhere on the Mediterranean coast, or something even better, but Jeremy was way too busy in doing the same to come out with a better simile.

To dispel any accusation of selfishness, Jeremy felt the need to show James a bit of cooperation if not initiative, so he slowly, cautiously shifted his grip on James downwards, until he was grabbing James’s buttocks – conveniently over his jeans – and squeezed them.

“Oi! You’re brave…”

“No. I’m going to be rubbish at this. But I quite like you James. I really do.”

“I do believe you. That’s why I want you in my bed; let’s go upstairs and show me, would you?”,

James whispered in his ear, softly yet resolved, and at those words Jeremy probably lost his consciousness at least for a split second:

“God James you can’t say something like that, like that… I’ve got an age and heart attacks are a thing”, he complained, and James giggled, loosening the grasp on his sides:

“Don’t be scared, okay? The bed is for comfort only, curling up on the sofa is killing my back.”

“Are you saying for real?”

“Well, I’m not the one who has boundaries here… I’m not going to rape you or anything, so it’s all up to you, but the bed is more comfortable than the sofa, and if you’ve changed your mind, there’s still the pie.”

“No. Let’s go.”

James kissed him again, as sweetly as he could, and they moved upstairs.


	23. Chapter 23

James led the way, checking a couple of times on Jeremy behind him:

“Want to move this to the guestroom, maybe? I mean, sheets are clean, but…”

“No, yours is fine", _I'm not a sodding guest James, but I know you were doing that for me. At least I hope so._

Once in his bedroom, James pulled away the blanket, folding it carefully at the bottom of the bed, and Jeremy moved to the other side and sat down on the edge of it, stiff and nervous like he was sitting on the dentist's chair.

"Could you take your jeans off before getting onto the bed?”, James asked. 

Jeremy squinted.

“James.”

“What?”

“Are we going to get naked?”

“Jeremy, as I’ve told you at least one thousand time, we don’t-“

“No, wait - and don’t come out with the pie again, I’ll explain: I’m fine with getting naked, even if you might reconsider alcohol to deal with the miserable sight, but… I know it’s a horrible thing to say and I’m so stupid but, I still can’t see myself touch your bare skin… it’s stupid, because if you touch me it’s fine, I know it’s stupid… but could you please… stay dressed? Because I’m sure I will want to hug you at least, and I don’t want to avoid it just because you’re not wearing a t-shirt.” _And it’s not for selfishness. Well, just a bit, just for the pleasure of holding you close. But I assume it’s mutual, so it’s okay in the end. Probably._

“Okay, no problem Jezza, but, er, I was asking you to take your jeans off was because of mere hygienical reasons… I mean, I sleep here. I could have just thrown another blanket over the bed otherwise, if you’d wanted to keep them on.”

“Oh. Er…”

“But… since you’ve offered to… Can you take off your t-shirt also?”, James tried.

"Isn't it too gay?”

"Jeremy.”

"Okay, okay, kidding. Shirt off, but again, alcohol would have been a sensible choice, now you’re left with eye bleach only”, Jeremy bitterly concluded, starting to take off his jeans.

James didn’t comment, instead he opened the doors of his wardrobe, "For the rest, I’m fine with that; just let me find some clean trousers...", he kept going while scanning inside it, "Can't wear these on the bed..."

"Er... don't need to... I mean, naked legs are okay...”

Puzzled, he turned to Jeremy, who, almost embarrassed, explained:

“Yeah, I know it's ridiculous, please don't ask me why because I have no idea... but they don't bother me... Told you I'm stupid”, _but not selfish. This isn’t selfish._

"No, you aren't, stop saying that, but it's a bit weird actually... where's the border? How much skin am I allowed to uncover?”

“It’s not… I can’t tell, t-shirt and briefs would do, okay?”

“Fine”,

so James took his jeans off, still looking studiously at Jeremy, his eyes thinner and shiny, and Jeremy thought he looked like a cat, a posh long-haired cat, _a cat that is going to bed me. Oh God._

As soon as Jeremy had removed his t-shirt, James moved closer and grabbed him at the waist, his forearms on Jeremy’s sides again, palms flat on his back.

“Let me… it’s what we’ve done this earlier, I guess it should be fine…”

No jolting, no excuses: James’s arms around him were already familiar – and longed-for:

“It is, just please… kiss me…”

James did, effortlessly and tenderly, then moved to trail pecks down to Jeremy’s neck, to the thin skin right above the sternum, and licked the path backwards. Jeremy jerked at the last touch:

"Oh, this is gay!”

James mockingly frowned at him, and Jeremy embarrassedly giggled before looking aside mumbling:

“Sorry. I’m…”, _a massive selfish twat,_ “I’m terrible at this - just please go on and ignore my comments, truth is I bloody like this”, _I bloody like you._

“I’m so happy you do.”

Jeremy nodded and kissed him again, and while kissing it didn’t take long for James to start moving his hands up Jeremy’s back, along his shoulder blades and up to the nape, up and down with long, slow strokes; Jeremy was less explorative, overwhelmed with feelings and sensations, his arms so tightly crossed on James’s back to fear he was going to crush him.

The tense silence worried James, who broke the kisses and the embrace to check on him:

“Jezza…”

“I’m okay… it’s fine… just… keep kissing me please, I know it’s stupid but it’s different… it’s easier, for me, if you keep kissing me…”

“Stop saying it’s stupid! It’s not. It’s you, and I like you, and you’re being brilliant.”

“Oi! That’s my line!”

James giggled, then turned to the bed, arranging the pillows over the headboard.

“Let’s set these up like we were on the couch, okay?”

“Yes… thank you. I feel a bit like a pupil with special needs but… well, maybe I am, so thank you”

James couldn’t restrain himself anymore:

“You’re only fussing because you can’t see how gorgeous you are to my eyes” _, and how much I love you, but I guess it’s already quite difficult like this, so I’d better avoid saying it,_ “Come on, make yourself comfortable…”

Jeremy froze, astounded, and James feared it had already been too much, even without bringing out the issue of who loves who. Jeremy sat down on the bed, blushing: no, he really couldn’t see that, he couldn’t figure out how James could have found him gorgeous, but he was bloody happy he did. He moved to the top of the bed and sat there, well propped against the pillows and still bewildered by James’s statement. _Come on, say something, he’s waiting for you to._

“Er… thanks? And get your eyes checked soon. Meanwhile, come closer.”

James smiled and climbed on the bed from the other side; “May I?”, he asked once next to Jeremy, and Jeremy nodded, “Yes please… come here… kiss me…”, so James shifted to set himself above Jeremy, on hands and knees, hovering over him to avoid as much contact as possible, yet close enough to kiss him.

 _Almost_ , Jeremy thought. Not fully naked, not completely at ease, but happy to be there: right under James, James that was being so meticulously delicate, caring and sweet. Loving, he would have summed it up.

“So… what was it you wanted to do?”

“I… don’t know James… you've begged me to let you take the lead, so take the bloody lead, because I really don't know what to do here. But I want you to do it. I'm old, and I'm fat, and I'm a fucking nightmare at this but I fucking l-like you, and if you don't believe me it's all the same, you've made this mess out of me so you're better going to deal with it", _too earnest, again, and probably rushed. And dangerously close to say it at the wrong time._

It took all James’s acting skills to pretend he hasn't noticed the quick slip, the harsh stop and the swift swallow that broke Jeremy’s speech; he decided to ignore it and concentrated on the practical implications of it all:

“Right. Don't overdo this as your usual, okay? Tell me if anything feels wrong”, he managed to reply, and got back to kissing him, moving one hand from Jeremy’s side to his chest.

Jeremy gasped at the touch, and put his hands over James’s head, fingers through his hair, to lock lips with him, writhing with pleasure under his explorative caresses, sinking in the pillows and down to the mattress; James’s position was getting less and less comfortable as Jeremy kept dragging him close, so James ended up straddling Jeremy, most of his weight on his lap. James’s both hands were finally both free to roam along Jeremy’s shapes, up to his sides and along his neck, around his shoulders and down the arms; still kissing, Jeremy’s hands stuck over James’s nape, until the moment James slid closer and Jeremy felt James’s erection pointing at his groin, and froze, letting go his grasp.

“Jeremy.”

“Sorry. It’s… that’s the hard part, if you forgive me for the terrible joke.” _Selfish. Just a bit, for survival. To avoid running away. So not that selfish in the end._

James shifted just a bit to avoid that contact before speaking, his tone low and indulgent:

“Okay… well, it’s not like I can take it off… Anyway, apart from my own old chap, you… would you be okay with me... experiencing yours instead?”

The dirtiest scenes from his retrospective on gay porn suddenly came to Jeremy’s mind, and he blurted:

“WHAT?”, fearing it was going to be his last word considering the way his heartbeat skyrocketed; James was quick to apologize, once realized the meaning Jeremy assumed:

“Oh no. Not that. God Jeremy I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking about that, please just pretend I haven’t said that… I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant, I just wanted to-“

“James”, he managed to say, breathing again, “James. It’s okay – mostly. Just let me recover my breath before you try to talk again. And please mind your bloody words, it’s the second heart attack I’m having tonight.”

“What I meant was that I know you’re terrified by my penis, and it’s okay, somehow. But… well, hope you understand that… that’s not reciprocal.”

Jeremy’s look turned quizzical, and James tried again, more softly if possible:

“What I’m trying to say is… that… I won’t mind dealing with yours, Jeremy… and, since you’ve come here for that, well…”

“James”

“Yes?”

“I... you already know I’m a greedy selfish twat and I’m sorry for that, but I… I won’t mind you dealing with mine. I’ve thought about it, _I’ve thought about it since the very first time, 3:47 in the morning,_ and I won’t mind it at all. I’m just afraid I’m not able to return, that’s the point.” _Selfish? No, sincere._

“Well… we should start from somewhere, right?”


	24. Chapter 24

James was doing backflips to keep kissing Jeremy while maintaining a decent grip and pace in stroking his cock; he was lying on the side, with his weight on one arm while the other’s hand was busy up and down Jeremy’s shaft, so he didn’t have the chance to contain Jeremy’s hands that were ravelling his hair and his t-shirt. Not that he wasn’t enjoying what probably was desperate commitment for Jeremy showing, but it was becoming a matter of balance.

After having slowly, painfully slowly managed to place one hand on Jeremy’s _oh so hard_ cock, still tucked in his briefs somehow, James had pulled away from the infinite sequence of kisses and licks and pecks they were sharing to ask for Jeremy’s approval one last time:

“Is it-”

But Jeremy had cut him off:

“Go on. I want you to”, he’d muttered, eyes closed and neck stretched, tension curling his wrinkles and stiffening his body.

“Take these off, you’ll be more comfortable.”

Jeremy had nodded and opened his eyes only to untangle them from his legs, then he had lain down again. James had lightly placed his hand on the stretched, smooth skin of Jeremy’s shaft, slowly wrapping his fingers around it and stroking it up to the wet tip of the glans, for Jeremy to hiss before throwing his head back with a deep, long moan, grasping on to the sheet with both hands. 

Unsure if it was being a sign of pleasure or reluctance, James had hoped for the first and kept going - legitimately, since things had gotten smoother later, balance apart.

James began with long, delicate strokes, slower over the tip to catch more precum and drag it down under his palm, careful for both caution and explorative purposes: to learn the texture of Jeremy’s veins, to know the wrinkles and the folds, the shape, the size and the way it bended. _For further assessments,_ James justified his care in gauging Jeremy’s cock _._ For the guilty pleasure of imagining how it would have felt to take it inside him, the glorious day he would have persuaded Jeremy into fucking him, and for the more practical goal of buying condoms.

When they weren’t kissing, Jeremy’s breath followed his moves, with chocked moans sounding somehow like “Jaaaaames”, breaking in gasps as soon as James pulled his hand away, only to start stroking again from its root.

“You’re gorgeous… I so like you Jeremy…”, James kept repeating every time their lips were apart; he assumed that Jeremy muttering “You… James, you… good…” was an acceptable expression of consent, so he increased the pace and the grip on Jeremy’s cock, and he groaned louder in approval.

James's hand wasn't as stranger as Jeremy thought it would be, and it also seemed to know what it was doing. He quickly dismissed any speculation about how James could have been so skilled at it, despite the odd angle, concentrating on his feels instead and _oh god, yes please, go on you magnanimous being…_

“…go on like that… you’re perfect James… oh god yes…”

Jeremy placed his hand on James's just when he was on the verge of coming, “Almost… close… closer…”, guiding the last strokes until his whole body curled and shook, moaning in pleasure and astonishment.

As soon as Jeremy had loosened his grasp, James pulled his hand away and lay next to him, panting almost as much as him for the strain of having maintained the inconvenient position. And waiting.

It took a good minute for Jeremy to speak again, during which James started to fear for the worst.

“James... you're fucking brilliant...”, he finally said, and James smiled and relaxed.

"Oh… well, it’s you… wait, I’ll get you a towel…”

“Wait… stay… James… kiss me, please.”

James turned towards him again, finally managing to have a good look at Jeremy’s naked body stretched out on his bed, and despite the objective dishevelment and limpness, it was better than he had imagined in his dreams.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that… I’m a wreckage… just kiss me”

James shook his head while leaning down to kiss him; “You’re gorgeous”, he whispered, before placing his lips on Jeremy’s again. _Oh James, I’m such a selfish bastard… I so love you but I really can’t say it now…_

The bulge in James’s briefs caught Jeremy’s attention while he was coming back from the lavatory to bring him the towel, so after Jeremy had gotten himself acceptably clean, he tried to offer:

“Can I… try to… return it?”, but he hadn’t found the strength to look straight at James while saying it, nor at his erection standing out over the contour of his body while he was lying next to him again.

“You’ve said it’s not your thing Jezza, there’s no need to…”, James replied, slightly tilting his head towards Jeremy.

“Just… let me try, please, it may go terribly wrong but well, _we need to start from somewhere right?_ ”, he said, hoping to sound confident enough.

James was flattered but not so much certain that Jeremy’s idea was a good one; anyway, probably because of the way Jeremy had turned on one side, towards him, with begging puppy eyes, he accepted:

“As you wish.”

“Can… can I ask you to take your briefs off yourself, please?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t sound like a good start you know? I’m just saying, there’s no need to rush things…”

Jeremy waved his hands in a ‘no, no, no’ gesture and solemnly repeated, “I’m willing to try. Just take them off.”

He knew James was well endowed: his generous measures had always been a matter of mockery among them all, but now that his arousal has been, _brilliantly, gotta say,_ extinguished and James's beyond-the-standards cock was fully erected in front of him, his initial doubtfulness got bolstered by a sincere inferiority complex and stroke back with full force, preventing him from making any move in the direction of James's crotch.

"I'm sorry James... I- I just can't...”

"It's fine, no problem, really, it's okay... it's just... Mind if I do myself? You know, it’s starting to get uncomfortable.”

"Oh no!” 

“Okay so could you… no, never mind, I’m going to the bathroom, you can stay here”

“James wait. Stay. Stay here. I want to look at you.”

“Oh I guess it’s going to be awkward then… are you sure?”

“Damn sure. Oh, come on, we’ve already done it together, and I’ve seen lots of mates wanking, you’re going to be the only one I’ll actually care about”, _oh God, that sounded way serious_. James wasn’t completely persuaded, but didn’t want to dishearten Jeremy, so he accepted anyway:

“Oh, well, okay then… but I’ll keep my eyes closed, okay? It’s not so common for me to do it with an audience, and it’s different than when we’ve been doing it together…”

“Whatever it takes James, it’s your business, I won’t bother you.”

“Mind if I take my t-shirt off too? It’s bloody hot here…”

“No problem.”

“Thank you. I’ll get comfortable then”, James said; he took his t-shirt off and roughly folded it, leaving it on a corner of the nightstand. He then placed two pillows against the headboard to rest his back against them, wobbling a couple of times to find the perfect position. He closed his eyes as promised and placed his hand down his crotch to grab the root of his penis between his index and thumb. 

Jeremy stared, fascinated. _James’s cock is pinkish. And plump. And smooth, apparently;_ he took a mental note of testing James’s smoothness as a pretext to convince himself to touch him, _not now, however, not so soon._ Jeremy kept looking while James slowly dragged his hand upwards, adding one finger after another to his grip on the shaft, until he reached the end and rubbed his palm around it, before moving down again.

 _Oh, this is gay. Bloody homosexually gay,_ he thought, unable to look away from James that was stroking his cock with an increasing pace, wet slapping noise mixed up with his groans, sometimes articulated in full sentences:

“I’m… thinking… of you Jeremy…”

 _Oh God._ James’s words went straight to his cock, miraculously recovering some sort of stiffness, albeit useless at that point, but his conscience had a word about it too. _Selfish._

A drop of sweat started running down from James's neck, sparkling, and Jeremy felt the call to follow it with his finger: his sudden touch made James jerk in surprise, and Jeremy froze, guiltily, but right after James whispered "Oh god yes please", before starting wanking again, so Jeremy kept dragging his fingertip on James’s body, along the droplet, and when it got lost in the navel Jeremy lingered there, tracing circles along the small hollow, until James's bobbing cock accidentally bumped into his hand while James was still stroking it.

He instinctively retracted the hand in disgust, holding it in mid-air like a dirty napkin, undecided on what to do; James was still rubbing his cock right beside him, oblivious to Jeremy's little accident and probably closer to coming. Not focusing on the droplet anymore, he could see all of James again, _and damn he looks so bloody kissable right now_.

He looked at his hand, then at James's one stroking his long, thick shaft, and after a quick evaluation of their dimensions - and an unexpected burst of courage - he carefully placed his one over James’s, following its movements up and down James’s cock.

James moaned loudly in response, “Jeremy…”, his pace briefly interrupted by the unexpected touch, but he didn’t shook Jeremy’s hand away, instead he came just after a few more strokes, with a chocked gasp, and Jeremy looked at him and thought it was the most beautiful - _and the gayest,_ _yes, deal with it_ – thing ever.

He took away his hand when he was sure James had stopped any movement and tried to justify his actions:

"I did... something, I promise I'll-“, but James waved his hand to hush him:

"Shhh, you've been brave."

Jeremy smiled to himself, content and proud; he instinctively thought of laying his head over James’s shoulder and embrace him, but James was lying there, plunged in the pillows, naked and sticky from sweat and cum, and it didn’t feel like a good idea anymore. Then he saw James’s t-shirt folded up on the nightstand; he stretched over James, not as nimbly as he’d imagined, and grabbed it.

“Jeremy… what are you doing…”

“Just wait”,

He spread it out on James’s chest, and James jerked at the unexpected cool contact, and finally lay again, on one side, with his head on James’s shoulder and his arm across his chest, yet carefully on the fabric.

"Jezza... there's a lot of... mess down there, maybe I should take a shower…”

"Shut up James, you've turned me into a bloody homosexualist, least you can do is bearing me now."

James didn’t move, still panting for the recent strain, and also for the part of Jeremy's bodyweight pinning him down, but he had the most blissful smile on his face.

Later, when James came out of the shower, Jeremy was already dressed and waiting for him, leant against the door frame. When James looked at him, interrogative, he turned his gaze away but started talking:

"James... you're- I know I always say the same thing, but you're brilliant, you bloody are.”

"Oh, well… you’ve been brave, so… it’s fine, I guess.”

"No it's not. Because it's not what I mean in the end.”

"What do you mean then?", James replied almost distractedly, but he figured it out right after: _Not that, right? I'm not ready for that,_ _not now, please don't say it now._

Jeremy didn't say it, he just kept his gaze away from James's and answered him in that low tone of voice that James knew was reserved for serious issues:

"That... that this is bloody good James, and I quite like this. I quite like you, that's it. I like this, and you, a lot."

James used to believe he'd stopped worrying about flushing red in front of Jeremy a while ago, but that was a bit too much to swallow without be alarmed for his cheeks, on the verge to explode; too much to swallow at all, since there now was a black hole sucking up all his guts and compacting them into an aching weight on his heart, that strenuously kept beating at an alarming pace. And kept looking inside the drawer he’d just opened.

He wasn’t wrong in understanding it as Jeremy saying that he loved him, despite in Jeremy's way, and that was a thing to be left weak at the knees from. At the same time, it was Jeremy being unable to say that he loved him, while James loved him, has loved him from long before and would probably have died if he wouldn't be able to keep loving him. So, especially in consideration of the last point, he wondered if he should sod off his worries and just tell him that he bloody loved him, risking Jeremy to freak out at a single word and run away. _No, b_ _etter not, not now_ , James decided; he finally picked a t-shirt and replied:

“Oh, er… Me too, Jeremy, please believe me, me too… I’ll warm up the pie, okay?”


	25. Chapter 25

James wasn't a fervid supporter of it, but Jeremy’s theory had seemed to work somehow: he had pushed things a bit, and Jeremy had responded, positively – baby steps, of course, but still, more than James was expecting, having dreaded for absolute panic or even denial.

The downside of it all was that it had gotten harder to bear Jeremy’s reluctance, because every time he thought about having finally managed to get Jeremy all for himself, he couldn't help wondering how pleasant it would have been to get a step further - not for dominance, not just for lust: mostly because he loved Jeremy, even if he hadn't been able to tell him yet.

On Saturday night, after having had curry at Jeremy’s, at the point when making out on the sofa - ignoring the actually interesting report on the telly - was unequivocally turning into something steamier, Jeremy broke the kiss to unbutton his jeans to give his hard-on space, and offered:

“Er… since I’ve gotten the sofa cleaned, would you mind moving this to my bed?”

“Oh if it’s for the sofa’s sake, surely…”, James smirked naughtily, “Or we can just put ourselves together and watch the telly, instead…”

“No, you moron. I needed an excuse though – you know I’ve improved a lot, but I still can’t ask you to bed me straight.”

“Why not?”

“Er… okay, because I’m a twat, granted. But also because it feels… selfish. You know what I mean.”

“No, it doesn’t. And I'm happy you've asked... because there’s a thing I'd like to try…”

Intrigued but still wary, Jeremy raised both his hands in resignation:

"Unless it's me somehow handling your chap, you know you can do whatever you want.”

" _Whatever_ , Jezza?", James inquired, raising a surprised eyebrow.

"Er, no... not _that_. Well, not yet James, ok? I'm a slow learner, you should know it by now, it's going to take all your patience and quite a long time before _that_."

James smiled fondly, and the fact that Jeremy had at least contemplated the chance of doing _that_ hasn't pass unnoticed both by his mind and his cock, that trembled in anticipation, but he well knew he couldn't rush things. Anyway, his plan for the night still stood.

"Ok, so for tonight's lesson, I've planned something different...", James explained once in Jeremy’s bedroom, while taking off shoes.

"What's in your wicked mind, you pervert?",

Jeremy joked while undressing, trying to compensate for his wary frown, but James kept teasing him:

"Oh I'm not going to tell you, you'll discover it soon - and I think you're going to like it. Anyway, you can stop me anytime you want, okay?"

Jeremy nodded, tensely, already propped on two pillows placed against the headboard; James, still wearing his t-shirt and briefs, set over him as they were used to do:

"So... where were we?”,

he said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, and Jeremy seemed to relax and grabbed James's head between his hands to pull him closer and kiss him, open-mouthed, wet and deep, confident enough to hide the underneath anxiety for James's intentions. James was firmly settled on Jeremy's lap, and Jeremy grabbed his butt cheeks and dragged him closer, allegedly unconcerned by the potential contact with James’s cock.

Happily surprised, James let Jeremy lead for a while, then he slowly - _unsuspiciously_ , according to James's plan - started to divert his kisses somewhere else: first it was on Jeremy's jaw, despite his stubble and Jeremy himself trying to steering him back towards his mouth, then on the neck, with little sweet pecks going downwards, until he found Jeremy's collarbone, where he was pretty sure he left a mark. Jeremy wasn’t complaining given his moans, so James kept going, placing his hands flat on Jeremy's chest, resisting the will to play with his nipples; he licked, kissed and stroke, up along Jeremy's sternum and then down to his belly, and despite the absence of a clear meaning, the sounds Jeremy was making told James he was doing a good job.

Jeremy let the grasp on his head, clinging to the back of James’s t-shirt only, so he found himself free to move further down, despite the fabric stretching under his armpits and around his neck, to stroke his tongue inside Jeremy’s navel, and Jeremy flinched and giggled in rapid sequence, “Oh, that’s gay, I like it…”, to James's delight.

He kept kissing along the trail of hair that was going down to Jeremy's crotch, when Jeremy placed a hand on his head again, preventing him from moving further:

"James…"

"Mh? Is everything alright?"

"Er, yes... Are... are you going to...?"

"If you're okay with that, yes"

"Are you sure? I mean, isn't it..."

"I'd just like to do that, I'm quite sure you'll like it too, but if not-"

"No, no, I'm quite sure I'll like it”, _I’ve been picturing this for a while actually so I’m bloody sure I’ll like it,_ “I just wanted you to be sure..."

"Jeremy", _I love you_ , James was about to say, but he thought about it a split second longer and instead added, "just tell me if anything feels wrong, okay?"

"Okay."

James took a glace upwards and saw the most embarrassed Jeremy ever, blushing and hesitant like a teenager on his first time, _and_ _god isn't him lovely?_ He arranged himself in a practical and comfortable position, one of Jeremy's legs between his, hands placed on the mattress right beside Jeremy's hips, ready to go down on him once he had taken off his briefs.

"Can I?" James asked, and Jeremy nodded.

James carefully took off Jeremy’s briefs, stretching the waistband to avoid it rubbing against his already erected cock, and dragged them down along Jeremy’s legs to remove them completely.

Once back in his place, he licked all along Jeremy's shaft, for him to shudder and gasp loudly, then got back to the root of his cock and started to work it up, licking and sucking and kissing, with the help of his right hand sometimes, encouraged by Jeremy’s moans.

He risked a glance upwards, conscious that eye contact would probably be too much for Jeremy for such a first time, but he only saw Jeremy's stretched neck as he had thrown back his head, sounding like he was choking on his own groans.

Jeremy let out a louder gasp when James managed to put all the length in his mouth, his nose brushing Jeremy's belly, but the gag reflex didn't let him keep his trick longer, so he got back to methodically suck and stroke Jeremy's cock, keen and devoted.

"James...", he whispered, barely intelligible among his gasps, but James was waiting for it and shivered at the sound of his name yet keeping the pace he's settled on.

"Bloody hell... James... you're perfect... I- I don't know... how long..."

_Good, this is the time_ , James thought, conscious that that would have meant cutting off Jeremy's arousal but also that his own knees wouldn't last much longer in that position. So he just concentrated on Jeremy's glans, sucking and licking the tip of his cock while Jeremy kept repeating "James, oh god, James", until he let out a final groan and James felt the warm, sticky taste of Jeremy’s orgasm in his mouth.

As Jeremy had calmed down, James uncrouched and crawled to his side, genuinely fearing Jeremy had fainted until he realised the feeble breath coming from him. He didn't risk a kiss, worried that it would be both too romantic and disgusting for Jeremy's standard.

Eyes still closed, Jeremy groped for James next to him, curling his hand around the fabric of his t-shirt when he found it. He pulled it, and James turned to one side to find a smug grin on Jeremy’s face:

“You’re fucking brilliant”,

Jeremy eventually stated, and when he opened his eyes James was staring at him with so much fondness that Jeremy couldn’t help going for a kiss; James warned him:

"Jeremy it's not a good idea, I still taste like… that.”

"Oh… well, it's not that bad… I've tasted it once – mine, and it's bearable, and it's mine, so...”, _and please don’t make me overthink about what you’ve done because that’s unbelievably gay and with that I’m out of superlatives to describe how gay it makes me having loved it,_ so Jeremy stopped thinking and just kissed him, and it was the same, sweet James as usual under his lips.

Later, after he had turned flat on his back, Jeremy asked:

"James, have I already told I bloody like you, right?"

James pulled away a little bit to focus on Jeremy, to check for any hint on the reasons for such a question, but Jeremy was staring at the ceiling, not giving out any kind of feeling. So James just answered a plain "Yes", uncertain of what Jeremy was aiming for. Still without moving, he replied:

"Great. Because I do, I bloody do."

"I do _like_ you too Jeremy", James couldn't help replying, putting all his strength in avoiding that other verb that seemed so fitting in that moment.

"Good. Because we're both talking bollocks and we both know, we know it's something different, right? You know I'm terrible at this and I'm bloody scared to admit it, right?", Jeremy said, his voice trembling.

"Guess so, Jezza. But it's fine, as long as we both know", James answered, unaware of where he'd get his coldblooded attitude from, incredulous of not having panicked at Jeremy’s twisted manner of saying he loved him back, and placed his head on Jeremy's shoulder hoping for the best. His wish got fulfilled, since Jeremy kissed him on the forehead and placed an arm on his back to tug him closer, and James drifted in the most content sleep he's ever slept, and Jeremy with him.

Jeremy woke up to the familiar yet unbearable noise of James’s snore, and for a split second he thought he was somewhere around the world in the middle of a special; then it dawned him it was his own bed he was lying onto, and the reason why James was snoring next to him right after.

_Oh, right. Might as well get used to this_ , Jeremy reckoned; he woke up and went for a wee, and when he took his cock in his hand to aim at the bowl he recalled its last known position being between James’s lips, _and no no no, don’t, think about something else and let’s go back to sleep._

It worked, since the next time Jeremy woke up, he was alone in his bed; he found his mobile next to him, and instinctively checked it, finding a text from James.

‘Good morning, didn’t want to wake you up but I have an appointment at 10 so I’d better go. Have a nice day – you’ve been brave tonight’

_Oh._ There wasn’t much to be brave since James had done all the work, Jeremy realized, and he hadn’t even attempt to reciprocate – _you selfish twat_ – but, lacking James in the flesh, his text was a nice way to start the day, _oh dearie me, what hopeless romantic have I became again?,_ and Jeremy went to the lavatory thinking about a suitable reply.


	26. Chapter 26

Cross-checking their plans for the weekend and beyond, it turned out the first suitable day to meet again was Wednesday, at seven, since James had reckoned he would have been busy anyway until the late afternoon.

James’s doorbell rang just after five o’clock, while he was taking a break from writing – better, not writing - a piece that was due the day after, to make himself a cup of tea with the hope to find some inspiration while brewing it.

There was plenty of thoughts in his mind, but inevitably most of them were Jeremy-related, and therefore unsuitable for being written down: not only for the pressing, sodding piece, but also for the next season of the show.

The couple of acceptable ideas he had had couldn’t get wasted for such a short column, but apart from those, it was mostly concerns about how to manage whatever he and Jeremy were up to, especially considering the impending shooting restart.

With those premises, James’s curiosity turned to annoyance in seeing Jeremy in front of his door:

“Funny, it doesn’t feel like seven o’clock at all.”

“I know it’s too early for dinner, I’m just here for the snogs.”

James rolled his eyes and took a step back inside:

“Could you please not make a public announcement of it?”

Snorting, Jeremy shook his head walking in; as soon as the door was closed, he tried to kiss James as they were used to do, but James swerved him and walked away, heading to the kitchen and to his longed-for tea.

“I have planned to do things before seven. Alone. Without distractions.”

“Am I distracting you?”

“More than I’d want to admit, considering you’re an old bloke unable to stick to a given time.”

“I’ve been missing you…”

James finally stopped and turned to him, too serious for Jeremy to keep hoping for a kiss:

“Me too, but I've got things to do. And they’re already hard enough without having you around.”

“Just kiss me and I won’t bother you any longer – well, at least until seven: I’ll set myself on the sofa, you won’t even recall I’m here.”

James raised an eyebrow at him, unconfident, then got back to pouring his tea.

“Want some?”

“Oh no, thanks, don’t want to bother you, you've got things to do…”, Jeremy answered bitterly.

Guilt-tripped, James put down the teapot and finally gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“Sorry. I have this sodding piece to finish, and it doesn’t turn out like I wanted, and I keep coming out with different ideas – which may be better but I can’t use them there, or getting stuck with different concerns, that I can’t afford now because I have to finish that thing first.”

Jeremy nodded, understanding:

“Take your time, you’ll find me there”, he said, nodding at the sofa.

“Thank you.”

After another quick kiss, James got back upstairs with his cup; it took him less than half an hour to get back to the living room though:

“You’ll be happy to know I haven’t managed to write a single word since you’re here.”

Jeremy made a zip sign across his lips.

“You can talk now, you moron… Fancy a beer?”

“Yes please… and snogs too… Then I could probably help you with your piece, if you want me to.”

“You hopeless romantic… and no thanks”, James replied, heading to the kitchen; as he was closing the refrigerator door, James’s phone beeped with a text from Hammond; he ignored the pic that came with it, reading it first:

‘Just want to say hi, hope you’re doing fine – better than the oaf at least, it looks like he suffers loneliness, or is there something I should know? Kidding, see you mate’

Confused, he checked the picture: it was a close-up of a tabloid’s page, that for the not cropped lines read:

‘ _but despite all the flaws I’ve listed, it still has its reasons to exist. It’s like dating James May: implausible, improvident, and unnerving, but it might work if spaniel-haired blokes it’s your sort of things._

 _Jeremy Clarkson._ ’

 _Oh._ James grabbed both the bottles by their neck and walked back to the living room. Waiting for his beer, Jeremy got presented with James’s phone instead.

“What does this mean?”

“What’s that?”

James put the bottles down, managing to keep the mobile in front of Jeremy, not saying a single word, while he was taking his glasses from the pocket. He wore them and checked what was on the screen:

“Oh, it’s my last column.”

“Yeah I can read.”

“Oh come on, it’s just a running joke, nothing serious, I always come up with your name writing those, for the most insensible or embarrassing reasons usually… it's just to keep up the tradition… you should have known it, if you had ever read my pieces before, by the way”, Jeremy just answered, looking at James above the lenses of his glasses, slowly realizing how annoyed he was.

“We’ve talked about this. Better: I've talked about it, because you didn't want to have the talk or anything, you were perfectly fine with our incompetence, and well this is the result. Anyway, I recall pretty clearly I’ve explicitly asked you to be… reserved about this. And I thought it was clear that it would include writing about it in your pieces, you moron!”

James had kept raising his voice while speaking, and Jeremy couldn’t help shouting his reply:

“Jaaames it was a joke! Nobody is going to suspect anything!”

“Stop shouting you oaf! Anyway, it’s not something I want the world to know, okay? It is clear enough?”

“And I’m not telling anyone! Do you really reckon I’m such a moron James? It took me ages to come to terms with the fact I fancy you, do you think I’m ready to explain it all to the world? To feed the paps? Really?”

“Jeremy you’re as subtle as a tsunami, how long do you think it would take for someone to understand it may be actually true? Could you just avoid this kind of bright ideas, please?”

"I’m really sorry you’ve got mad at it James, it wasn't meant to mock you or anything - not more than usual, I mean; I'm not going to lie, I've obviously giggled while writing it, but it’s really just a joke…”

“This is not a joke to me, I thought I’ve made it clear.”

“Oh hell, you’re so dense. That – coming up with your name in the worst moment along a piece – is a joke, I’ve been doing it for ages! This – this thing between us, that has made me reconsider the importance of other penises besides mine, it’s not a joke to me either. And I thought I’ve made it clear too.”

“So stop treating it like it’s one. Stop making fun of it. Or trumpeting it or whatever. Just stop.”

“You’re overreacting. Think about it James, who do you think would be more affected by the shitstorm after a potential coming out, between the two of us? Do you think I’ll take such a risk?”

“I. Don’t. Care. I just don’t want anyone to know. End of it.”

Regardless of the ongoing quarrel, James took the opener he’d put in his pocket and uncapped the beers. Too vehemently, as right after he had opened them, the tool slipped away from his grip and fell on the floor, and the plastic handle split in two halves.

“Oh cock.”

Jeremy didn’t say a word: James’s clumsiness was probably a red flag much clearer than his previous assertions. James quickly grabbed the pieces from the floor, grumbling:

“I have the right glue in my shed, I’ll fix it.”

and walked away. Jeremy heard the backdoor opening and closing right after, and took the last sound as the all clear to stop restraining himself from commenting, for the fear of making it worse albeit unintentionally, and to have a sip of beer too. James hadn’t brought the bottle with him, so Jeremy reckoned it would have been a matter of minutes.


	27. Chapter 27

He was wrong. It was at least twenty minutes James was gone, maybe more; he realised it because his bottle was empty, and he had no idea of what was going on the telly anymore. 

Jeremy was worried: because of all the time James was spending in the shed, partially; because of all the things he had thought about, right after being left alone on the sofa, that had grew up way more upsetting than whatever it might have happened to James while fixing a bloody bottle opener. He chugged a long gulp from what it was supposed to be James’s bottle, then walked to the shed.

He had been quiet, for once, and James hasn’t heard him coming: Jeremy had the time to look at him fiddling with a spring that didn’t want to stay in its place in the insides of the motorbike he was crouched next to, before talking:

“You don’t want the world to know it’s me, right?”

James jolted and turned his head up, visibly off-guard; he didn’t have the chance to reply, he probably hadn’t even got the right sense of Jeremy’s words.

“I’m not your standard kind of bloke, I got it, but please believe I’m doing my best. I can’t change much, I really hope you don’t want me to change – and I’m sorry it bothers you so much but, er, that includes the content of my pieces.”

James lowered his head; his locks hid his face and he kept silent behind them, so Jeremy kept speaking:

“If… if this is not going to blow up in the next five minutes, if for some reasons we manage to keep it going, seriously, for a while… are you really… determined in never telling anyone? Keeping this, keeping me as your dirty secret only?”

“It’s not what I meant.”

“You said you don’t want anyone to know.”

Slowly, James put the spring down on the ground, stood up and cleaned his hands on the worn tea towel that was hanging from the motorbike’s handlebar, all without looking at Jeremy, then bent again to pick up the remaining metallic part of the bottle opener, its handle shattered in pieces scattered all around.

He pointed it at Jeremy while talking, or fidgeted with it in the pauses of his speech:

“You have a weird attraction for walking on thin ice that I really can’t share, that’s why I’m Captain Slow and you’re all power and speed and cheesy jokes. Call me paranoid, or coward, I just can’t perceive it as harmless as you assume.

Anyway, it’s not because I’m embarrassed about you, please never assume such a thing again.

It’s right the opposite, in a certain sense: I don’t want the world to know I’ve been so lucky, I don’t want to share you with the world. Not for the part you’re sharing with me. I’m… jealous of it. It’s private, and it’s mine.

But. If this keeps going, and one day it will get to the point we’ll agree on make it public, I will be nothing but proud of having you with me.

And again, I’ve never planned this that far, you’re going much faster than me. As usual."

Jeremy wondered for a split second if there was a way to withdrawn all he had said, because the content of James’s explanations was worth more than his silly habit of mentioning him here and there. There wasn’t; _lesson learnt,_ he couldn’t promise himself to stop mocking James – he hadn’t, thankfully, because he well knew he wouldn’t have stuck to such a promise - but he took a mental note of evaluating the appropriateness of his words next time, _because James may be a paranoid but he’s the paranoid I’m in love with._

Eventually, James broke the embarrassed silence between them:

“I’d better text something back to Hammond anyway”,

so he headed back home. Jeremy stopped him right on the shed's door, a hand on his forearm:

“James wait”,

and tried to lean in for a kiss.

“I’m still mad at you”, James answered, walking away.

 _Great, wait until you’ll see I've drunk your beer,_ Jeremy thought, and resigned to just follow him and shut up, but when he saw how long it was taking him to type anything on his mobile, he offered:

"Do you want me to ring him and tell him to mind his business? Even if I think it would only make it worse...”

"Yeah, please don't. I still have to reply him something though", he realised, so he sat on the couch and grabbed the beer he had left there before – and realised it:

"Did you drink my beer too?”

“Er… just text Hammond and then we'll discuss whose beer it was, come on. And it would have gotten warm by now anyway.”

James shook his head, and concentrated on texting;

‘Good for you, the holidays have made you forget the moron he is’, he wrote, and when he had put the mobile in his pocket again Jeremy offered:

“Listen, why don't we go to the pub? I could make up for the missing beer and maybe you'll find some inspiration.”

Raising his gaze from the phone, James replied:

“That might be the only good idea you’ve had since you’re here…”

“You’re belittling me again, I’ve also offered to kiss you – I still do, if you’re wondering…”

Jeremy’s puppy eyes made James give in and eventually kiss him, albeit unenthusiastically, “Still mad. Sorry.”

It was a short walk to the pub; “It's a while we haven’t come here together, mh?”, Jeremy said, leading the way inside.

“Yeah, we’ve been… busy, lately.”

 _Definitely. Pleasantly busy_ , Jeremy thought, and it didn't pass unnoticed to his mind what had happened the last they’d been to the pub together, even if not alone. _Don’t. Don’t think about it, say something – something else_ :

“So, first round on me.”

James nodded and walked to their usual table; soon Jeremy reached him, two pints in his hands:

“This is much more than that short sip of beer I took from your bottle before, and I’ve asked for chips too, so my debt is settled. You’re the one paying from now on.”

James put his hand around the glass and before lifting it he casually asked:

“We’re filming again in days, have you thought about it?”

“Bah, I’ve written down a few things, and Andy has sent the list of all the last released cars they want us to try, but I haven’t checked it yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it… but I was thinking of… us, actually”, James said, his tone low and circumspect, before finally taking a sip.

“Oh. Well… no, I’m afraid. But… you don’t want to make a public announcement or anything, right? So, I guess nothing is going to change much, for the show.”

“No, but that’s not the point, what I meant is, do you think…”

Jeremy took a look around them and whispered:

“It shows we’re… shagging?”

“Yeah...”

“Nah, we’re professionals... we’ve already done that, filming while being angry at each other, and it turned out good, so…”

James looked unpersuaded, and Jeremy easily drew the conclusion:

“You don’t trust me in this, right?”

“Well, given the latest events, could you blame me? Anyway… it’s not a matter of trust only, we’re going to live in each other pockets for a while and I don't know…”,

but Jeremy shook his head in disagreement:

“Listen, it’ll be okay… I mean, I’ve been bearing you for ages, so I don't think it's going to change much more in the next three months, but okay, I promise I’ll be careful, I swear it”, _just please don’t make me choose between you and the show. Because I’d choose you and we’ll have to explain a few things._

It wasn’t much, but James suspected there wasn’t more that could have been pulled out of Jeremy about it, and he really didn’t feel like keep rebuking him anymore, _he’s more than trying, you owe it to him_.

“Okay, thank you”, James concluded, glad to have expressed his worries at least.

The conversation moved to their ideas for the show; James’s mood was improving glass after glass, and, after a few pints, minor slip-ups and cheesy jokes weren’t that worrying anymore; eventually, they reached the point when they realized they’d drunk too much and left the place.


	28. Chapter 28

Right out of the pub James lighted up both their cigarettes, not without difficulties, and they walked back to James’s place. The topic of the talk had become innovative, and increasingly more absurd, ways to mess with Richard for the next season, and as they walked and laughed James have had to grab Jeremy’s arm more than once, supposedly to avoid losing his balance; Jeremy kept staying close to him, _and it’s quite a warm night or maybe it’s just James that's warm,_ and staggering against each other they reached the front door at James’s.

“You can’t drive like this”, James stated, putting the spent fag in the glass jar he kept next to the jamb.

“I’ll get a cab.”

“He won’t pick you up, you’re a mess.”

“Are you suggesting I’d better stay at yours for a while?”

“Any better ideas?”, James asked, finally managing to put the key in the lock and open the door. Jeremy threw his fag in the jar, missing it, and walked inside along James.

“No, but you suck at flirting…”

James giggled, pleased that Jeremy was already aware of his intentions, and quickly locked the door behind them. Hands on his shoulders, he easily pushed an amused and excited Jeremy against the door, staring at him with a mischievous scrutiny. Jeremy teased him:

“How was it… you didn’t want… my drunken misjudgement?”

But suddenly James wasn't so inclined to jest anymore,

“Shut up,”

and put his command into practice by means of sealing his lips against Jeremy’s, a starting point before drifting down along his neck, eagerly kissing every bit he could reach, hands already lost under Jeremy's shirt; “God James… I’ll piss you off more often… if this is… the result…”

It wasn’t the pissing off obviously, instead its aftermath: precisely, Jeremy wishing, Jeremy planning, Jeremy foreseeing something James wasn’t allowing himself to, something that James’s inebriated, euphoric mind translated in an utterly physical need:

“I want you”. Serious. Desperate. Indisputable.

Rubbing the back of his head against the door, Jeremy slowly nodded, not completely sure about what he had just agreed to, and James was quick to kiss him again.

The clumsy attempts Jeremy was making to reciprocate at least the kisses weren’t due to Jeremy’s hesitation this time, more to James’s wild desire that wasn’t leaving him much space. When he finally took a break, the way James looked at Jeremy wasn’t open to interpretations:

“Bed. Please. I so want you.”

“Yes”, _yes to whatever you want, yes especially because you want me._

James was unusually fast up the stairs, Jeremy couldn’t help noticing, and quick in undoing his jeans and taking off his shoes. Quick enough to stand in front of Jeremy while he had only managed to untie his belt, so that James could place his hands on his shirt and practically begged him:

“Let me. Please.”

Jeremy nodded, and James stepped closer to kiss him again while blindly undoing the first button of his shirt. He then crouched just enough to be able to follow the line of buttons with his mouth, licking each inch of skin as soon as it got uncovered, until he was kneeled in front of Jeremy, his hands firm and warm on Jeremy’s sides.

Meanwhile, Jeremy was unable to make any conscious move, overwhelmed and painfully aroused, _oh god_ _James_ ; on the verge of collapsing, resisting only to avoid crushing James under him, he regained a bit of consciousness when he felt James undoing his jeans and pulling them down his legs, then stroking the naked skin all the way up to his bottom. Jeremy looked down and saw James dragging his lips over the fabric of his briefs, poorly containing his erection, shuddering both at the view and at the feels, his arousal vented by broken groans. James’s breath was hot around his cock, unattenuated by the stretched cotton thread and incredibly tempting, _I probably shouldn’t think this but I’d so fuck that mouth of yours, you teasing bastard…_

To Jeremy’s sorrow, James loosened the grip on his butt cheeks instead, running his hands on Jeremy’s sides while standing up, for them to end up on his chest, pushing him towards the bed,

“Lie down.”

It was unclear if it was an order or a plead, but Jeremy was willing to comply anyway: he took a step back, nearly falling on the bed, and eased his shoes off and his jeans after them, before lying down, with his shirt still on, aroused and submissive.

James didn’t ask for permission this time, and quickly straddled Jeremy and bent down to kiss him again, his mouth open and greedy, and Jeremy was quick to respond with as much eagerness.

“You’re… bloody… hot…", James kept telling him, “I’d so fuck you Jeremy… I so want you… the day… you’ll let me… I’ll probably die… over you…”, and every bit of his skin burned blessed after James had touched or kissed it, and Jeremy had never felt more wanted. _Almost naked, absolutely happy, oh god James what are you doing to me?_

“Go on then”, he eventually managed to say, conscious of what it meant, aware of what could have led to. _But I know you’ll be kind, James, I know you love me, even if you haven’t said it. It shows. I feel it. And God please don’t make me get this wrong.  
_

James froze at those words: he sat up over Jeremy’s lap, suddenly more lucid, and warned him, “Jeremy. I’m quite sure you don’t want me to…”

“I trust you; I know you won’t hurt me, just… do what you feel like. I want you to. You're bloody good at this."

James looked straight in his eyes one last time, searching for approval, and Jeremy nodded quickly, but it felt like it wasn’t enough, so his tongue was quicker that the brain in solving the issue:

“I’m yours.”

It slipped out, and Jeremy realized the size of what he’d said seeing the astonishment flooding over James’s face. James was looking at him, glowing wide-eyed and jaw-dropped, and Jeremy realized he was completely screwed up and madly in love with him when the most fitting word he found to describe him was ‘beautiful’.

So he closed his eyes and whispered, more consciously:

“I mean it”,

and the next thing he felt were James’s lips on his mouth, sweet and lustful, and James was air, alcohol, and nicotine, and whatever else Jeremy might have needed; James muttered something Jeremy couldn’t understand, that got lost among the kisses and the groans.

Risking a dislocation, Jeremy writhed out of his shirt, needing his arms free to grab James and pull him even closer than he was, as his weight on him didn’t feel enough, still hoping that his hands were going to fall somewhere clothed; Jeremy’s wish was fulfilled, as there was the smooth cotton of James’s briefs under his palm, and James’s round, soft buttocks to grab and squeeze right under it.

It probably was James’s penis, that hard bulge that was pushing against his crotch, but Jeremy decided it was a negligible detail at that moment and kept holding him close. The detail became relevant soon after, when James broke the kiss to remind him:

“Just… tell me… if it feels wrong…”,

while one of his hands was already busy with pulling down Jeremy’s briefs, finally exposing his erected cock.

James stroked it a couple of times, and no, it didn’t feel wrong at all given Jeremy’s moans, but before abandoning himself to James’s expertise, Jeremy felt him fumbling between their crotches again, and when he realised what the hard, hot entity lined up along his cock was, James was already wanking them simultaneously, wrapping them both in his hand, and Jeremy didn’t care anymore; his sober self would probably have had a lot to complain about it, but it had been bribed with alcohol and, more effectively, with the bursts of sheer pleasure that were taking over him, so it was good. More than good.

Jeremy tried to contribute somehow, to find some kind of rhythm, but he couldn’t offer much more than clumsy thrusts against James’s hand - _and cock, oh fuck, but I love you, I love you regardless of what we’re doing, I love you and this is fine,_ as James was rocking against him so lustily and tightly that there wasn’t much space left for him to move.

Gasping, moaning and unable to put up sensible sentences, Jeremy’s only voluntary action ended being crying out James’s name, more or less intelligible between the kisses they kept sharing.

James – oh, he hated that – James probably had a secret PhD in homosexual affairs, and also much more stamina than him, stroking them both _oh so good_ , keeping balanced and, most important, kissing him. And yes, it was James’s cock right next to his, but there was more that met his eyes - and all his other senses: he blessed James’s large hands and strong arms, the heat passing through the weave of his t-shirt and the lascivious noises he made when he wasn’t muttering:

“You’re gorgeous Jeremy… you’re so hot… I don’t know how long… I’ll resist…”

 _Oh James… oh my love…_ “I… You…”, but he couldn’t finish his sentence, as James changed the way he was wanking them both, his hands now rubbing their tips in tight circles, and under that touch Jeremy was quick to come, and James right after.

“Fucking… brilliant… James…”

It was a way to say it. That he loved the way James had crashed over him when the shudders from his orgasm ended and he just collapsed there, drained and bewildered. That that glimpse of naked skin, under the half of Jeremy’s palm that stuck out of the brim of James’s shirt, was burning under his touch but he was determined in not pulling his hand away. That the idea of doing those things with James first, _with James only_ , was so growing on him that, even if it hadn’t happened, he could have accepted to have pushed things even further – _but James didn’t because he knows me, he knows the pain in the arse I am at this._

He felt James attempting to move away from his disarranged position, and couldn’t help murmur:

“Don’t you dare move from here”; James curled closer, setting his head on Jeremy’s shoulder.

 _I love you. Please believe me I’m madly in love with you. But I can’t say that, not now. You wouldn’t believe me, and I really need you to… I need you, but this is too much thinking already,_ Jeremy silently concluded; he tightened his embrace around James hoping that it would have meant what he hadn't said yet, _tomorrow,_ _I'll tell you_ _tomorrow , I swear_ , gave up thinking and fell asleep.

Jeremy woke up when James was carefully pulling away his side of sheet that was somehow covering them both, not knowing how long he had slept. He didn’t make a move and pretended he was still sleeping, to sense what James was doing. As it had got clear James was taking a shower, Jeremy got up and sat on the edge of the bed: at that move he felt the sticky remains of what had happened before and couldn’t help hoping for James to be quick.

The shaft of light passing through the door ajar was enlightening exactly the pile of his clothes on the floor; Jeremy wondered if it was a sign from above, a suggestion to just dress up and go home, but thinking again – for as much as it hurt to think – he really couldn’t see why.

It wasn’t a drunken misjudgement – it had never been, neither a shag, so he really hoped James wouldn’t have found nothing wrong if he had sleep there… the middle of the night wasn’t the right time for a love declaration, but Jeremy determined he couldn’t have postponed it much further, so, _first thing tomorrow morning, and please God don't make me die tonight, I have a thing to do first.  
_

Eventually, James got out of the lavatory, surprised to find Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed:

“Oi, Jezza”

“Hey…”

“Oh er… I’m sorry, I’ve been-“

“Brilliant. You always are. Don’t be sorry, it’s been… god James it’s been bloody good okay?”

James flushed red; it didn’t show in the dim light, but the embarrass seeped into his voice:

“Er… also messy though – I assume you haven’t liked that…”, he said, hinting at Jeremy’s belly.

“Oh I won't get pregnant because of this, don't worry... Just… James, is it… all… you wanted to do?”  
  
“Honestly? No. But my other ideas didn’t go well with being intoxicated.”

Dread and desire tied a knot on Jeremy’s throat, and he shivered at the thought of what was in James’s plans and what it had probably required him to avoid doing it, shuddering in realizing how he wished he hadn’t been drunk. A stream of unspoken words run between them as they stared at each other, and James mercifully tried to change subject:

"So… You can sleep here if you want... well, maybe the guestroom is better, at least the sheets are clean there…”, James suggested, and Jeremy really hoped it actually was the reason why James offered it:

“Guestroom is fine, but… you’re sleeping there too, right? I mean, you’ve just showered…”

“Oh. Er… okay, if it’s fine for you, I mean…”

 _God James I know I’m the one making this hard but it’s me asking,_ “It is. Now, can you lend me a towel? I really need to wash a bit…”

“Sure… here”

“Thank you”; Jeremy took the towel and got to the lavatory.

When he stepped in the guestroom, James was already asleep – or at least that was what it seemed. On the other side of the bed, there were a pair of briefs and a t-shirt perfectly centred on the pillow; Jeremy put the briefs on to avoid complete nakedness, but he couldn’t find the strength to wear the t-shirt.

He got into bed and hoped to fall asleep soon again to avoid thinking how easily he could get used to that, how soothing was to have James sleeping next to him – _he’s not even snoring now, the lovely moron._

The need to make it clear that he wasn’t giving it a try anymore felt more urgent in his chest, and he hoped that it was the same for James; sure, signs were good, but it wasn’t something that could have been taken for granted.

He wondered if he had somehow convinced James that things had grown deeper, even if his feelings were probably there right from the start, when James was looking like the sweetest peach in the basket, _and I was an oblivious idiot and I should have known, and you look even more gorgeous to me now that I know I love you._

He reached out blindly under the sheets, and found James’s hand: sleeping or not, James didn’t pull away when Jeremy’s fingers intertwined with his, and Jeremy fell asleep again soon, happy and satisfied.


	29. Chapter 29

Jeremy didn’t recognize his surrounding when he woke up; it took him a while to realize it was James’s guestroom, and it has been the same for the reasons he’d gotten there and how weird his briefs felt around his crotch. Instead, once properly awake, he clearly recalled his resolution for that day.

He washed the bare minimum, rehearsing the kind of speech he was going to give once downstairs - hoping that James was there, also making breakfast if possible, because he wasn’t sure if his stomach was grumbling more for anxiety or hunger.

 _Love declarations aren’t something that can be done shirtless_ , he reckoned, but his own shirt was too wrinkled to be worn casually, so he reluctantly resigned to wear James’s too small t-shirt.

When he heard Jeremy’s steps, James turned from the counter and smiled at him, and Jeremy couldn’t decide if it was because of the t-shirt or its content, so his “’morning” didn’t sound so confident. James, instead, was perfectly at ease:

“Good morning, fancy some tea? I’ve found a pack of instant coffee, but it has expired two months ago…”

“Oh, doesn’t matter, tea would be fine… thanks”, he replied, hanging his shirt on the chair.

“No problem. Slept well?”

“Er, yes… and, James…”

“Mh?”

“There’s one thing I have to tell you…”

James turned from the counter and frowned, seeing how Jeremy was nervously grabbing the backrest of the chair, curling the fabric of the shirt:

“Before breakfast? Must be something serious…”

“It is. Er, no, not in that sense, nobody’s dying. But it’s serious matter, to me.”

“Want to sit down?”

“Don’t need to… I just need your attention…”

“Just…”, James quickly tidied up the counter, feeling the urge, and turned towards him again: “Okay, tell me.”

After having taken a deep breath, Jeremy straighten up and began:

“Okay… I’m sorry I’m going to make it rubbish at my usual, but I really can’t find any other solution, and I have to tell you because it’s killing me. I haven’t been able to say it when we were shagging or right after it because it felt too biased – even if it’s not, please believe me - but still, it was the wrong moment, and last night you’ve probably just wanted to sleep… so I’m telling you here and now: I love you, I’m hopelessly in love with you. That’s it.”

James froze, dumbfounded, then made the faintest sound,

“Oh Jeez…”

already beaming yet bowing his head with embarrassment. He straightened the tea towel hanging on the cabinet’s handle before turning to Jeremy,

“It wasn’t rubbish… and I love you too”.

 _Ouch. I have forgotten how good it feels to hear those words. Or maybe it’s because it’s you saying them,_ “That’s good news. Best news ever”, Jeremy commented while taking the couple of steps between them, hoping that the shivers of joy up his back wouldn’t have made him stagger, until he was right in front of James, yet, for some unknown reason, not so bold as to kiss him.

“I love you”, James repeated, before throwing his arms around Jeremy to hug him and kiss him, _Oh and it’s going to get difficult now,_ Jeremy thought, _because I’m melting and I’ll probably slip through your fingers James, and I’ll become a puddle that soils your floor and you’ll get mad at me… but I so love you._ He didn’t melt though, instead he kissed James back, tenderly, a hand in his hair to avoid him slamming his head on the cabinet, to keep him close, to check it was for real _,_ _I love you._

“I love you”, James said again, as soon as his lips were free to speak, “I… I knew you… cared, I thought you were afraid of the word…”

“James, I’m so in love with you I find you gorgeous, that’s how fucked-up I am, what’s the point in fearing a word?”, _not to mention how happy I am when I make you laugh_.

And James was laughing, happy and bright and pinkish,

“It’s… fine then, right?”

“No, it’s been terrible. But it’s something I didn’t want to only slip out while we are shagging, and… it would have happened soon, probably.”

“I would have believed you anyway… it happens, to inadvertently saying it while… busy, and drunk too, doesn’t it?”, James giggled, and Jeremy gasped:

“Have I already said it without realising? What a pillock am I?”

“Not you. Me.”

“Really? When? I didn’t get it!”

“As some point last night… and, as you’ve said, it wasn’t biased or anything, but it wasn’t the right time… so I’m glad you haven’t heard it.”

“Well, I am too, I would probably have made quite a scene… by the way, James… those things... you've said... last night... You... do mean them, right?"

The way James's eye thinned, together with his lips turning in a mischievous grin at the same time, told Jeremy that yes, he meant them.

"Oh, those things... like... fucking you?"

Jeremy nodded, and James giggled in anticipation,

“Oh god yes Jeremy…”

then tilted his head to whisper to Jeremy’s ear, lips brushing the skin of his neck:

“Trust me, I’ll take all the care to make you ready, then I’ll slowly, so slowly slide inside you, and you'll be hot and tight around me... Oh believe me, I'll be careful, I'll be kind... but you'll curse my slowness and beg me for more, and you’ll be so gorgeous that I won't last long, having you all for me like that… And I'll be greedy, I'll be selfish, and I'll come first... I'll leave you there, aroused and lustful, then I'll become yours to fuck.

And you will fuck me, hard and desperate, in my mouth or in my arse, wherever you want Jezza, I'll be all yours - I am yours. And I know you'll fuck me senseless, you'll thrust your cock so deep inside me, filling me, up to the point I won’t breathe if not to scream your name, and you'll come so hard… oh Jeremy you're going to love that...”

Jeremy was on the verge of coming so hard already, after having listened to the details of James's plan, speechless and petrified; it took him a lot to avoid surrendering to the semi growing in his pants and not bed James, consciously that time, there and then.

"James...”

Well aware of the effect his words had had on Jeremy, James re-emerged from the crook of his neck, "Sounds good, mh?”

"B-bloody..."

"There's one condition though."

Jeremy’s brain quickly skimmed through a few of possible ones, ending up to the chance of being proposed for marriage, but luckily James, _my beloved James_ , was way more practical – and physical.

"You'll have to come to terms with your reluctance and learn to touch me... I know you’ve improved a lot, but… god Jeremy I’m so craving for your hands over my skin, I want to know how strong and kind they could be, and we can’t get that close together if you’re not at ease with my body... I know it's a bit of an extortion, but I'm sure you'll understand the need for it.”

"Well, ’All is fair in love and war’, right? And I do understand it - I’m pretty honoured too, please believe me I’ll do my best…”

“I do. You’re brave”, and placed a little peck on his lips, “So, tea?”

“Oh no, definitely no if your clock is right, otherwise I'm going be really late at the appointment with my editor, considering I have to get home first and wear something better than your t-shirt… or this”, he explained, picking up his shirt from the chair and starting to walk towards the door, with James following him.

“Sorry, you were sleeping, and I couldn't bring myself to wake you up…”

“No problem. How long have you been awake?”

“Enough to already have made tea twice and finished the damn piece; are you sure you're going to be able to face your day without a proper breakfast?”

“I’ll get a coffee once there, but believe me I'm already quite awake…”, and James giggled, proud and amused.

Before opening the door, Jeremy turned to James again:

“Er, you can call me a moron or decline, but… can we have dinner together tonight – somewhere fancy, I mean?”

“Oh, well, I won’t mind to, but I’ll probably get home late, there’s this sort of conference in Swindon I’ve been invited to this afternooon, and I can’t recall if it also includes a dinner somewhere… what about tomorrow?”

“Perfect, I’ll find a nice place and let you know the time… but I really have to go now…”

“No problem, so… see you on Saturday, right?”

“Looking forward to. Well, have a nice day then.”

“You too, love you.”

“Oh”, _right, I can say that now,_ “Love you.”

James gave him a last brief kiss, that Jeremy protracted a bit longer before going outside. After having closed the door, James spent a whole minute with his back leant against the wooden surface, eyes closed and the happiest smile on his face.


	30. Chapter 30

They had a good dinner, and an even better after-dinner at James’s; technically not so different from what they had already done before, but that night, finally, none of them skipped the chance to say it, _I love you_ , when it felt more sincere, needed and instinctive. _I love you_ , panting in each other’s arms, still wearing a t-shirt hopefully for the last time, _I love you,_ skin, lips and tongue, _I love all of you._

James woke up, alone in his bed. It took him a couple of seconds to recall he had fallen asleep over Jeremy first and next to him after; he didn't have enough time to feel disappointed by not seeing him by his side though, as he was startled by the noises coming from what was probably a battlefield previously known as his kitchen. He braced himself and walked downstairs:

"Good mo- oh hell, what have you done here? I was expecting it to be a mess, but this is worse…”

"Oh, you're so dramatic - I thought I'd have time to tidy up before you woke up actually, you would have slept until noon if I didn't mess with the pans... sorry. I'll clean up, I promise. Anyway, good morning, fancy some eggs?”

"There were just two of them, and I guess you've already eaten at least one, given the smell. And the stains. And the shells on the counter.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes,

"Fancy _one_ egg, Captain Fussy?”

"Yes please”, James answered, finally focussing on Jeremy: he was wearing of James’s shirt and God only knew how he hadn’t soiled it yet, but mainly, he looked pretty happy for being that early in the morning.

"It's not that messy, by the way”, Jeremy retorted, already busy at the stove.

James didn’t reply, he didn't want to quarrel with Jeremy as first thing in the morning; Jeremy was quick with the egg, and it turned out better that James had expected – or probably it was the hunger.

“So… don’t I deserve a good morning kiss? I mean, I’ve also made breakfast…”, Jeremy asked, leaning over James from his side, attempting to a kiss.

“Don't. Don't try to kiss me, there'd been eggs, _a single egg_ precisely, and your cock much earlier, in this mouth, you wouldn't enj- oh god did I actually say that?", James reconsidered, looking around himself puzzled and lost, soon giggling in self-mockery while scratching his nape incredulous and self-amused. Then it dawned it.

“Jeremy… It’s Sunday morning, you’re wearing one of my t-shirts, I’m cocking about having had sex with you last night and you’re messing up my kitchen like you own the place… you can call me Slow, but... what are we doing?”

Jeremy didn't know what to answer, but he was sure that whatever it was, it didn't feel wrong, "Er… well... do you like this, apart from the dirty kitchen bit?”

"Yes, I do. A lot.”

"Do you really need a label then?”

"No, that's not the point and you know it. I'm not the one who's scared of labels here, also.”

"I'm not scared! I'm an homosexualist! See, I've said it, no problems at all!”

"Stop behaving like a six-year-old, this is serious matter to me, I've told you right from the start.”

"And I told you I wasn't taking the piss and still I am not. You’ve also received what probably was the worst love declaration ever, but its meaning is still valid.”

"So what are we doing?”

"Er I suppose we're in some kind of homosexualist... relationship?”

"You sound more scared by the latter word, you know?”

"I am scared! Words are important, they have a meaning, and how can you not be scared by the meaning of 'relationship', especially when it involves me and you?”

A shiver ran down James’s back, because Jeremy wasn’t completely wrong in the end.

"Are we in a relationship then? I mean, like a couple?”

"Guess so? Unless you're snogging random chaps beside me in your spare time …”

James chuckled at Jeremy’s words, but wasn’t persuaded yet.

"So, this is serious, right? Not a try anymore?”

"James should I actually ask you if you want to be my boyfriend or we can skip that part? Because I've already said that I love you so, apart from minor issues with your old chap I’m brilliantly dealing with, I don’t think I have to, in the end.”

"Granted. Can _I_ ask _you_ if you want to be my boyfriend then?", James replied cheekily, already aware of the kind of reaction his innocent question would have triggered on Jeremy. And he wasn't wrong:

"Oh... oh May, you're a bloody romantic homosexualist you know? Go on then, ask me if you want - just don't get down on your knee, don't want to call a crane to pick you up.”

“Oh we’ll see who’s the bloody romantic here”; James stood up from the chair, ostentatiously coughing to clear his throat before starting:

"Jeremy Clarkson"

"Oh hell, please don't make it so dramatic", Jeremy tried to ease the mood, his own at least, as James seemed so bloody comfortable with that – while Jeremy’s embarrassment started to grow blatant as he didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Jeremy Charles Robert Clarkson”

Impatient and blushing ever darker, Jeremy tried to make James desist, “Oh, come on…”, unsuccessfully:

"Will you be my boyfriend?"

Jeremy wasn’t ready; he thought he was a grown-up man and he also had already dealt with something similar, even if he had always been the one asking, but seeing how James was so serious yet so serenely happy to ask such a question made his heart melt. He swallowed a sob, and seeing the surprise in James’s eyes didn’t helped him maintaining a straight face; he crashed against James, hugging him desperately, and sniffled:

“Yes James, you bloody gorgeous bastard, yes”

James held him close, stroking his back and playing with his hair meanwhile, “Oh that’s good… I love you, you know… I’m so in love with you…”, until Jeremy loosened his grasp,

“I love you James”, relieved to see that James wasn't as unmoved as he was pretending to be, yet still smugger than him:

“I love you, hopeless romantic… and I'd better go and clean my teeth then because I really want to kiss you now…”

"Go, be fast for once.”

When James got back from the lavatory, Jeremy waited before kissing him because he couldn’t help pointing out an important issue he’d been thinking about for a while on, become more relevant due to the last developments:

“So is it... official?"

"Er, guess so? But actually, I'm still not that keen on making a public announcement of it. Not yet, at least."

"Oh no, no, don't worry, neither I! And believe me, it's not for shame or anything, it's just that... it isn't necessary, it's not meant for the world to know, it's... ours, right?"

James nodded, appeased by Jeremy's answer yet a bit shocked by the wording - positively shocked.

“However, point is… I feel like I should tell the kids somehow, I hope you’ll understand the need to…”

“Sure. And I can’t be anything but happy that you do.”

“Great. Come here now, let’s put that fresh mouth to good use.”

“Did you-“

“Yes, with your mouthwash in the other bathroom; I taste like a plantation of mint, try me”, and James happily did.

Once back downstairs James started washing the dishes out of habit, while Jeremy sat at the table checking his mobile; _oh, this feels pretty domestic,_ James realized, and needed something else to think about before being overwhelmed with feelings: _work, work will do._

“So, ready for tomorrow?”

“Er, yes… Oh, er, by the way… there’s just one thing…”, Jeremy replied, taking off his glasses:

"Hammond's been asking how I'm doing with the one I've told him about... and I've kept him updated until now - omitting some details for your discretion, obviously - and I don't know what to tell him tomorrow… he’s surely going to ask, and I’m not sure for how long I could keep up making up stories…”

“Obviously, since I had explicitly asked you to avoid doing that… you’re such a moron you know?”

“Naa, I’ve been discrete… Told you, wrong pronouns and everything, he thinks you’re called Jessica!”

"Yeah, sure. I guess you can as well tell him the truth, if it's what you want. Just ask him to keep the whole thing for himself, please."

“Are you sure?”

“Well, it’s Hammond, and he probably already suspects something, so…”

"Ok, thank you, you’re making my life easier. I just have to find the right way to explain him..."

"Oh I don't think it's going to be that hard. Try him. Just text him ‘It’s James’, plain like that, without context, let's see"

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, not persuaded, but started typing anyway, and hit 'send'.

It took less than five seconds for his phone to ring with an incoming call, and Jeremy showed James the screen of his mobile before answering:

"Hammond?"

"HA! I KNEW!",

James heard him shouting even before Jeremy turned on the speakerphone:

"Oh and it was about time! Jessica my arse, you moron… I was bloody sure it was him, you're hopeless at keeping a secret, and James's too! I can't understand how blind he must be to like you back but it's his problem. So, are you telling me because it’s official?"

"Er… official but not public, so please don't tell anybody, you're the only one to know it - you, and your spaniel haired colleague that is here with me right now."

"Oh please tell me you're not naked in bed!"

"Not naked, not in bed. Not anymore, and not yet."

"Bleurgh, I didn't need that! Anyway, I'm happy for you guys, take care of each other and have fun - and don't provide further details please! Thanks for having told me though, I swear I won’t say a word, see you tomorrow, bye!”

"Bye Richard, and thanks"

Jeremy hanged up and looked at James, who stared back unimpressed:

"Told you."

"Oh come on… I swear it’s not my fault… he’s a perceptive bloke, okay? Please don’t get mad at me…”

Puppy eyes on not, James wasn’t willing to scold him, quite sure that Hammond had actually sensed something long before.

"I won’t - instead, what have you just said about being naked in bed?”, James teased him, and Jeremy was quick to reply,

“If it’s an offer, I’m in.”

“Great – but first, the dishes, thanks.”

Jeremy pulled a face, “You deceitful bastard…”, but stood up and grabbed the tea towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh well, it's over! I've loved writing it, but it turned out longer than I'd thought...  
> Thanks to everyone who has kept reading it to the end, hope you've enjoyed it as much as I did.


End file.
